


The Casual Paradox

by sariane



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Anger, Come for the F/F stay for Yaz's subplot, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Foe Yay, Guilt, Missing Adventure, Paradox, Pining, Steampunk elements, enemies to lovers to still enemies, robots!, set during series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: The Doctor finally tracks down the Master, but it’s not who (or when) she expected. Missy convinces the Doctor to take her on a date – or is it a trap?Meanwhile - Yaz, Graham, and Ryan try to enjoy a night out on the town...before it falls into the typical chaos.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My intention in writing this fic was not only to explore the Doctor/Master dynamic with Thirteen and Missy, but to fill in some of the emotional character gaps left in series 12. I wanted to spend more time with Yaz on her quest for self-confidence, and see more of Graham and Ryan’s relationship – and overall, how they all deal with and react to the Doctor’s lack of transparency or trust in the season.
> 
> Continuity note: For Team TARDIS, this story takes place during series 12, after ‘Praxeus’ but before ‘Can You Hear Me?” For Missy, this is pre-series 8. I know it’s a popular fan theory that Dhawan!Master is a pre-Missy incarnation, but this story assumes that he is the regeneration after Missy.
> 
>  ******* If you are interested in skipping the sex scene, it is the scene in chapter eight marked with three asterisks, and is completely skippable. (Or you can skip straight to it, go for it!)  
> \--  
>  **WARNINGS:**
> 
> Note: This is a Doctor/Master fic, and it is what it says on the tin: a story about two enemies who are lovers. They have a tenuous relationship and a canonical history of violence against one another, and this fic is about the two of them trying to reconcile this dynamic with their feelings for one another. Please be aware of your personal constraints and comfort while going forward.
> 
> \- swearing  
> \- alcohol + drinking  
> \- tobacco + smoking  
> \- gambling  
> \- minor injury  
> \- hypnotism/mind control  
> \- explicit sexual content (scene marked by three asterisks ***)  
> \- canon-typical scifi-fantasy violence  
> \- canon-typical violence against main characters including: choking, kidnapping, threats of violence, mild fight scenes, near drowning  
> \- a scene that juxtaposes sensuality with violence (spoilers: characters kiss, and then one chokes the other to trick an onlooker)
> 
> Please let me know if I've missed a warning, or if you have any questions!  
> *

##### DOCTOR

It’s just her luck that the proximity alarm goes off when everyone is in the console room.

The Doctor is underneath the floor, having pulled up a few of the hexagon-shaped panels to climb beneath the console. Yaz had lost an earring between the steps.

_Beep beep beep!_

“Uh, Doctor?” Ryan asks. “ _Please_ tell me we aren’t crashing again.”

_Beep beep beep!_

The Doctor finally spots where Yaz’s tiny flower-shaped earring has fallen. Cursing herself, she grabs it and rushes back through the mess of wires and tubing.Graham helps her pull herself up and onto the floor.

_Beep beep beep!_

The Doctor bounds over to the console and flips a switch, silencing the alarm. The hodgepodge tracking device that she had hooked up to the console is still blinking red.

“What was that?” Yaz asks.

“It’s nothing,” the Doctor says, trying to shrug it off. “Just need to do some maintenance. I might’ve knocked a few wires loose while I was down there.”

Yaz and Ryan share a look.

“Doctor –“

“How about a quick trip home, to Sheffield?” the Doctor asks with a big smile, circling the console and hitting a few buttons. The small console scanner pops up. Lines of Gallifreyan text scrolls across the screen.

“You can visit for a few hours while I tinker,” the Doctor continues, eyes still glued to the scanner. “Probably just need my 50,000-year oil change.”

“You don’t have to lie to us,” Yaz says, “we know what you’re doing.”

The Doctor’s mouth is a thin line. She hands Yaz her earring. Yaz looks down at it.

“You’ve found something, haven’t you?” Yaz asks. “Is it _him_?”

For a moment, the room is silent but for the grinding of the engines.

“It would be safer if you’d let me handle it,” the Doctor says in a low voice, looking back at the screen, unable to meet any of her friends’ gaze. She almost feels ashamed of herself.

“It would be a lot safer for us all if we weren’t time travelers,” Graham says with a little humor, “but we’re all here, aren’t we? You know we’re happy to face it alongside you, Doc.”

The Doctor smiles a little. “Maybe not this time, Graham,” she says sadly. “It’s the Master. The TARDIS has found him.”

Ryan frowns. “But you said he was in another dimension, yeah? That… dark place where he sent you and Yaz?”

“No, now it looks like he’s in London, in 2013 – so he’s found some method of time travel. That means I have no idea what I’m walking into,” the Doctor says. “I don’t like it.”

“And I don’t like the thought of you going alone,” Graham says. His eyebrows are knit together in worry. The Doctor feels a pang to see how genuinely concerned he is for her – how they _all_ are.

“This isn’t your battle,” the Doctor protests. “None of you signed up for this.”

“Yeah, we did,” Ryan says. “We’re your friends.”

Behind Ryan and Graham, Yaz smiles at the Doctor. It’s a worried, tight smile, and the Doctor knows it’s loaded with more than Yaz will say in front of these two. The Doctor smiles weakly back at her. She pulls a lever on the TARDIS and they’re off through the vortex.

*

##### YAZ

“So you’re saying, the Master could be anywhere on this street? In _Chiswick_?” Graham says, looking down the busy street with its shops, restaurants, and flats. “What? Crouched behind a bodega, rubbing his hands together, cackling to himself about his evil plans?”

Yaz laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, elbowing him.

“Sounds like him, yeah,” the Doctor replies seriously. She scrunches up her nose. “If you listen in close enough, he’ll probably reveal his evil plot.”

“Very _Scooby Doo_ ,” Graham says, “So maybe it’s time to split up. You take this side of the street, we’ll take the other one?”

“We should stick together,” the Doctor protests, but Ryan and Graham are already walking away from her and Yaz.

“Don’t worry, Doctor, we’ll bring you back some Scooby Snacks!” Ryan calls over his shoulder.

“Fine, but if you see _anything_ weird, go right back to the TARDIS,” the Doctor shouts back. “And be _careful_.” She huffs and crosses her arms as she watches the boys cross the street. Yaz waits at the Doctor’s side. She’s been in this odd mood since that alarm had gone off.

“They’ll be fine,” Yaz laughs, trying to dissolve the tension. “They couldn’t spot the Master if he popped up right in front of their noses.”

The Doctor pouts. She pulls out her sonic screwdriver and begins waving it around. It sounds like a horde of angry bees to Yaz. When the Doctor checks the readings, she slouches and frowns.

“Anything?” Yaz asks.

The Doctor shakes her head. “Well, let’s start looking,” she sighs, leading Yaz into a nearby chippy to look for anything suspicious. (And to possibly get a snack.)

As they queue up to order, the Doctor buzzes her sonic screwdriver a few times, attracting a few odd looks. Yaz sighs fondly as the Doctor picks up a bottle of ketchup and complains that it’s gone out of date. They order, Yaz pays, and the two of them wait for their chips at the pick-up counter. The Doctor is still glowering (perhaps because Yaz had made her relinquish the ketchup).

Every time Yaz opens her mouth to speak, she stops herself and bites her lip. She knows she’ll regret saying this. The Doctor is staring awkwardly out the window, as if she knows Yaz is about to say something, and is willing her to stay silent. Yaz makes up her mind.

“You know,” Yaz starts, “I’ve never seen you act so… weird before.” She pauses. “I want to ask you if you’re alright – but – Why do I get the feeling that you’re _embarrassed_ more than you are scared?”

The Doctor sucks in a deep breath.

“It’s complicated, Yaz,” she says, a little dismissively. “The relationship I have with the Master is very, _very_ complicated.”

“Is that what it says on your Facebook profile?” Yaz asks wryly.

The Doctor presses on. “Everything from Barton, to the aliens and MI6: it was a trap to reel me in. It’s personal. And he did it all _just_ so he could deliver a message to me.”

“Why are you still looking for him, then? Isn’t that asking for trouble?” Yaz asks. She takes their chip orders from the counter and hands one to the Doctor.

“I have a lot of questions that need answered,” the Doctor says vaguely. They leave the shop and head back out onto the bustling street.

“And you think he’s going to...? What? _Talk_ to you?” Yaz asks.

The Doctor blows on a piping hot chip to cool it down.

“Maybe,” she says. “I was hoping I could rescue him from that dimension and convince him to talk.”

“You think that’ll actually work?” Yaz asks skeptically. She opens the door to the next building, a small grocery boasting cheap wine and low money transfer rates.

“Eh, it’s fifty/fifty, really. Last time –” the Doctor starts, before she abruptly cuts herself off.

Yaz frowns. The Doctor busies herself by checking behind a magazine rack. She doesn’t look like she’s about to elaborate. Yaz is starting to feel slightly guilty for pestering her.

“I’m sorry if I’ve pushed you to talk about something painful,” Yaz says. “I know he hurt you – and you obviously don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry.” She looks down at her chips, breaking one of the crispy burnt bits in half.

The Doctor swallows. There’s a long silence before she speaks.

“I – I think you’re right,” she says, “I _am_ embarrassed. Maybe it’s because I keep giving him second chances, and he keeps failing them. Or because he knows me just as well as I know him, and that means that we’re more alike than I’d like to be.”

“You’re _nothing_ like –“

“I am, Yaz,” the Doctor interrupts, “I haven’t always been a short woman with a gift for gab and a cheerful disposition. I was so much different when I was younger. I’ve been so many different people. Soldier, prisoner, exile, grandfather, student...warden.”

“But don’t you always say, it’s who you are _now_ that matters? Not your past?” Yaz protests.

“Maybe that’s what I’m telling myself, to feel better about it all,” the Doctor says, “and maybe that’s why I’m looking for the Master. Because I want to prove to myself – and to him – that I’m better. That I can change.”

“I think we’re _all_ always changing,” Yaz says.

The two women lapse into silence as they walk out of the little store and into the next one, a cafe whose teller immediately tells them off for bringing in outside food. They leave. On the street outside, the two of them finish up their chips in an awkward silence.

Yaz’s phone chimes with a text from Ryan.

“’ _No luck, but I found a new pair of kicks,’_ ” she reads out loud with a fond sigh. The Doctor doesn’t laugh.

“Hey,” Yaz says, nudging the Doctor’s arm with hers, “Thanks for, you know, talking to me. You don’t have to be so stoic and mysterious all the time, alright? You’re my mate, not my mum.”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “I told you I was a grandfather, didn’t I?” she says, smiling a little in spite of herself. “Come on, Yaz, we’ve got work to do. Let’s get a shift on.”

*

##### RYAN

Ryan glances up from his phone when the pub erupts into cheers. The dusty telly on the wall shows an instant replay of the football spinning into the net.

Graham appears from the midst of the crowd, looking cheerful and holding two drinks. He slides Ryan’s cider across the table towards him, and raises his own pint of bitter in a toast.

“Cheers,” Graham says as they clink their glasses together. “I can’t tell you the last time I sat down in a proper pub.”

“What about that tavern on Peladon? That was nice,” Ryan says.

“It don’t count as ‘nice’ if we end up chased out by aliens before I can finish my drink!” Graham protests. “Nah. You only say that ‘cos the bartender was flirting with you.”

“It’s a big universe,” Ryan shrugs. “Don’t you want great-grandchildren?”

Graham stops mid-drink and splutters, spraying a mouthful of ale over half the table. “ _Great_ -grandkids?!” he gasps.

“I’m only joking!” Ryan laughs, breaking into a smile. “You should have seen your face.”

Graham narrows his eyes and starts mopping up the table with a napkin.

Ryan’s phone buzzes with a text message from Yaz.

 _if i have to buy another pack of gum out of politeness while the dr pokes around some dinky newsagent, i’m gonna scream. :crying:_ 😭

“The Doctor and Yaz still at it?” Graham asks, shaking his head and frowning.

Ryan can tell that Graham thinks their search is futile – and he can’t say he disagrees. Personally, Ryan _hopes_ it’s futile, too. He can’t shake the image of the Doctor’s face on the plane when O had revealed his true identity. Nothing’s been the same since then.

The Doctor has been distant and cold, quick to anger, and slow to answer their questions. Yaz is always trying to figure the Doctor out, but sometimes Ryan thinks he can read the Doctor all too well. He knows from experience – she’s grieving.

The pub suddenly bursts into jeers at something happening in the match. Ryan turns back to the telly to see what’s going on.

“2013...” Ryan says thoughtfully. “Do you remember watching this match?”

“I dunno, honestly,” Graham shrugs. “We made the semi-finals that year, but I was doing chemo. Give me a Saturday afternoon match and a cup of tea, and I was out like a light.”

“Nan’s out there, somewhere,” Ryan says, glancing out the pub window as though he’s going to see her standing out there on the street. “Can you imagine? Probably yelling at me to put down ‘Call of Duty’ and go get some fresh air.”

“You know what the Doc told us, so don’t go getting any ideas,” Graham starts, suddenly looking stricken, but Ryan shakes his head.

“I know,” Ryan sighs, “I just… it makes me feel better to think that, no matter where I am, she’s still out there somewhere. In time. Everything she ever did or said is still happening, in that great big web of time and space. Same for my mum.”

Graham looks lost for words. He reaches out and covers Ryan’s hand with his own, just for a moment.

“Grace would be so smug if she saw us here today,” Graham says. “ _’I always knew you two would get along,’_ she’d say. We’d never hear the end of it.”

Ryan laughs. “How do you think the Doctor stands it? Knowing she can travel in time, that she could change things or visit someone she’s lost?”

“You know what?” Graham raises his eyebrows. “I don’t think she _can_ stand it. I think it eats her up, sometimes, and I bet she’s made her own mistakes. Caused one of them _paragons_.”

“You mean paradox?” Ryan smiles.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Graham says. “Paradox! Look at you, you know the lingo! You’re practically a professional time traveler.”

“Nah, it’s all in _Back to the Future_ ,” Ryan laughs. “No paradoxes on my watch!”

*

##### DOCTOR

The afternoon is turning to evening by the time the Doctor stops at the second-to-last shop on the high street.

It’s a tiny discount mobile shop, one of the kind with loud signs broadcasting pay-as-you-go plans, cracked screen repairs, and even refurbished laptops. A bell rings as they pop inside for a quick look. The Doctor walks past the front counter and heads straight to the back of the shop, her eye caught by a display of pre-paid mobile phones.

“We’re closing in ten minutes, love,” the bored-looking shopkeeper tells Yaz.

“Thanks.”

“I haven’t bought any minutes for my phone in _ages_ , Yaz, d’you think I need to?” the Doctor calls over her shoulder. “I’m not sure how this works.”

“What kind of phone do you have?” Yaz asks, examining a pre-paid minutes card.

“I dunno, it’s one of the flippy ones.”

“Oh my god, that’s ancient,” Yaz pulls the Doctor over to the smartphones. “Get one of these. They’ve got touch screens now, look, and you can play games on them.”

A few minutes later, the Doctor strolls up to the till, clutching her chosen smartphone proudly.

“It’s about time,” the shopkeeper says in a thick cockney accent “I’m just ‘bout to close up, aren’t I?”

The Doctor drops the box on the counter in surprise.

She’d been playing with the controls of the TARDIS, trying to track down the Master, and she hadn’t realized...hadn’t thought –

“Oh, I know that expression,” the shopkeeper says. She smiles and drops her cockney accent.

“Gets me _every time_. Look at that mouth drop. And that’s a new mouth, isn’t it? Not one I know – although clearly, you know _me_...”

Missy smiles, showing her teeth for a moment.

“Doctor –” Yaz starts, unsure whether to be frightened or amused. The Doctor throws up a hand to silence her rudely.

“What a marvelous surprise,” Missy says, picking up the smartphone box and throwing it over her shoulder. “I was expecting the boy in the bow-tie to show up, not a dish in a dress. Congratulations, I might say,” she grins.

The Doctor just frowns. “Chiswick, 2013… Clara. How could I be so stupid?” she asks herself, smacking her own forehead. “Sorry, my mistake. I’ll be going, now. Don’t mind me.”

She wheels towards the door, pushing Yaz ahead of her.

Missy jumps over the counter like it’s a hurdle, black skirts swishing around her. She stops in front of the door.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Missy smiles, leering, “I’ve thought very long and hard about how I would greet you in your new regeneration.”

“Then save it,” the Doctor snaps, “I’m not here for you. I’ve crossed my own timeline – I’m not the Doctor you’re waiting for. I’m looking for your future incarnation.”

“Oh my god,” Yaz interrupts. “Is _this_ the Master? In a woman’s body?”

Missy glances at Yaz disgustedly. “Oh, please tell me I’m not a man _again._ That seems rather boring.”

“I love to disappoint,” the Doctor says, pushing past Missy and opening the door. “Maybe you missed the beard. Personally, I’m not really sure of the appeal.”

The Doctor sets a fast pace as she walks down the street, Yaz running behind her. Missy keeps up, even though she’s in heels.

“You know, we’re not _really_ breaking the Laws of Time, not really,” Missy says, “not even a little bit. I think they rewrote them, actually, for you and dear Professor Song – “

Yaz interrupts, “Who?”

“When did you run into River?” the Doctor frowns.

“Oh, a few times,” Missy smiles sweetly. “I spent three months stranded with her in the time vortex. She’s a lovely singer, you know.”

“I don’t care about the Laws of Time,” the Doctor says. “You aren’t who I’m looking for. You can’t help me. So I’m moving on.”

“Oh?”

“It’s what I do.”

“You’re – you’re _mad_ at me, aren’t you?” Missy cackles with glee. “My goodness, I _am_ flattered. You’re raging! Absolutely seething! Hey you, faithful companion, do you have a phone I can borrow? I would _love_ a picture of the face she’s making right now. What on Earth did I _do_ to deserve this honor?”

The Doctor stops so suddenly in the middle of the pavement that Yaz almost runs into her.

“Yes, I’m angry,” the Doctor says through gritted teeth, turning on Missy. “You have no idea what you – what _he_ has done, this time ‘round. So _you_ cannot tell me a single useful thing. So get on your,” the Doctor stammers angrily, “Your, your _d_ _aft_ _b_ _rolly_ , and float away like a disappointing Mary Poppins, and leave me _alone_!”

The Doctor stalks away, alone.

“Is that the best insult she could come up with?” Missy mutters dryly.

*

##### DOCTOR

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor heads to the console and furiously begins to adjust the controls. She’s being none too gentle, resulting in a slight static shock from the TARDIS.

“Ow!” she says, popping her thumb in her mouth.

“Bad luck, then?” Ryan asks sympathetically. The Doctor looks up to see Graham and Ryan sitting on the far end of the console room. Clearly, their football match was over.

“Us too,” Graham says, “Although I _swore_ he would be in that pub, watching the footie.”  
  


Yaz had closely followed the Doctor back to the TARDIS. She’s quiet, but she had been full of questions earlier. When Ryan shoots a questioning glance at her, she shakes her head. _Not now._

The Doctor knows they’ll gossip later, but right now she can’t bring herself to care. She doesn’t want to talk, or to think. She just wants to dematerialize and send the TARDIS spinning through the vortex, as far away from 2013 as she can.

The TARDIS doors creak open again before she can finish her thought.

Missy strolls right in, her heels clicking on the crystal floor.

“You still keep a spare key above the ‘P,’ then,” she says flatly, tossing a key at the Doctor, who catches it and blushes. “I’m surprised you can reach that high,” Missy chuckles, as though she’s any taller than the Doctor.

“Who the hell are you?” Graham says, stepping forwards protectively. Missy turns in his direction.

“Get out,” the Doctor says sharply, pointing back towards the doors.

Missy just smiles at her. “If you really didn’t want me here, the TARDIS wouldn’t have let me in. Now, why would she do that? Especially if you’re so angry at me?”

The Doctor’s face stills. She glares wordlessly.

“Option number one, _she’s_ forgiven me, because I’ve done nothing wrong,” Missy says, dramatically clapping a hand over her chest. “Option number two – you let me in when I was here last in this regeneration. And you let me pilot the ship.” She sets a hand on the console, which doesn’t shock her. “Hmm,” Missy smirks, “I like option two.”

“I can’t tell you what happens in your future,” the Doctor says. “You know I can’t, so I don’t know why you’re asking.”

“Not even a tease?” Missy pouts. She strokes the TARDIS console slowly, sensuously, and bats her eyelashes. “Please, I’m being so _good_.”

“You’re being _inappropriate_ ,” the Doctor snorts. “Can’t you tell I want to be left alone?”

“Yes,” Missy says, “that’s what’s so intriguing. Usually you’re overjoyed to see me, even if you pretend you’re not. But you aren’t playing along this time.” She pouts.

“You know how this has to go,” the Doctor says softly. “I’ll see you again, soon. Maybe.” She swallows. “I always do.”

“You’re no fun,” Missy frowns, dodging the Doctor to smack a button on the console. The TARDIS begins to dematerialize.

“Hey!” the Doctor yelps, jumping for the controls. “Stop it!”

“Shan’t,” Missy shrugs, flipping another lever and a few buttons as she dances around the console. The time rotor speeds up. “You should’ve turned isomorphic back on.”

The Doctor follows her, flipping switches back into place until she catches up with Missy. She grabs Missy’s wrist as her hand goes for the helmic regulator. Missy turns to pull away, but the Doctor holds her there for a moment, keeping her within reach.

All at once, the Doctor remembers Graham, Yaz, and Ryan standing there, watching in stunned silence. She can feel their eyes on the back of her neck, and finds herself flushing.

“What do you want?” the Doctor asks Missy in an undertone. “What can I do...that you’ll leave me alone? So we can head back to our respective time streams?”

“Hmm,” Missy tilts her head, considering. She yanks her arm from the Doctor’s grip. “Dinner. Your treat.”

“Fine,” the Doctor says. “Dinner. And then you’re back to 2013, and up to no good.”

“As always,” Missy flashes a smile. “I’ll get changed, then.”

She struts off towards the rest of the TARDIS, giving the Doctor’s friends a haughty, smug look. The Doctor turns away, just listening to the echo of her heels clicking in the halls.

*

##### MISSY

Missy makes her way through the TARDIS, going so deep that the walls are the boring white roundels and the floor is smooth and plain. The TARDIS doesn't feel organic at this level, although she knows it is. The Doctor's TARDIS has grown wild over the last few hundred years, Missy thinks. She’s growing coral and crystal, and getting larger when no one is looking.

After a few moments, Missy finally finds what she's looking for. The door is the same heavy, bulky TARDIS default, but the interior is much different.

The TARDIS closet. It’s still set on the coral desktop theme, just as it had been when Missy had turned it into a paradox machine. The Doctor probably hasn't used it in years. Maybe she thinks she’s lost it.

The racks and racks of clothing before her aren't particularly promising. Missy takes one look at the Doctor's tie collection and almost gives up entirely. She climbs the spiral staircase to a second level and walks past a rack of clothes, running her fingertips over them as she passes. She hesitates at the touch of velvet.

It's been over a thousand years. It should have crumbled to dust by now. But the TARDIS is nostalgic, and keeps things frozen in time when they're out of sight.

The black velvet jacket is exactly how she remembers. Ornate collar. Horrible, tacky, _puffy_ sleeves. She remembers the night she left it on the TARDIS. It's been cleaned since then and carefully hung up.

She tries to imagine what kind of face the Doctor would make if she returned to the console room in this. Not just a reminder of that night, but of so many others. The guilt, the shame – the trepidation. She can still feel the Doctor's shaking fingers unbuttoning her collar.

No. Maybe another time.

She returns the jacket to the rack. Whatever her future self has done, it's not good. She should be delighted, really: this means that she _wins_ in the future. And not only that, but it obviously has the intended effect on the Doctor. Her rage is _delicious_.

Missy snaps her fingers. She knows the perfect place to take them – she hasn’t been in centuries, but it’s a lovely little moon, out of the way, filled with restaurants and bars and casinos...

"New Bavaria. Dinner and excellent wine," Missy murmurs to herself. "Perfect."

With a discriminating eye, Missy looks around the closet once more. She spots a section from the appropriate century and smiles.

She's feeling very feminine, so she might as well...

*

##### DOCTOR

As soon as Missy is out of sight, the Doctor sets the TARDIS controls on isomorphic and adjusts the scanner. While her ship has changed over the years, it’s still the same when you go down far enough into the old rooms. Missy will find her way to what she wants soon enough.

The Doctor feels her shoulders tense up while she waits for one of her friends to break the silence. She isn’t sure if they’ve been too scared or too shell-shocked for the past thirty seconds to say a word. The Doctor keeps her head down and pretends she’s adjusting the controls.

“You can tell them who she is, Yaz,” the Doctor sighs. “You’re right.”

Yaz hesitates. “I’m not sure I even understand what just happened,” she says.

“Me neither,” Ryan says.

“I do,” Graham says cheerfully. “That’s your ex-wife, right?”

The Doctor looks up. “ _What?_ ” she says, horrified. Yaz grimaces.

“Knows where your spare key is, walks in like she owns the place, and asks you to dinner? That’s textbook ex, that is,” Graham says, like he’s proud of himself.

“Time travel is wild,” Ryan says, “how do you manage to stay married when you meet at different points all the time?”

“No, no, no, no!” the Doctor shakes her head. “I think you’ve got her mixed up with someone very, _very_ different.”

“So you _h_ _ave_ been married?!” Graham asks, delighted.

“I did – I do – it’s complicated –“

“She’s the Master,” Yaz spits out suddenly, a little bitterly. The Doctor frowns at her. “The signal the Doctor found was the right person, but also the wrong one.”

“You’re all a little bit right,” the Doctor sighs. She glances at the empty corridor that Missy had disappeared into. “Remember what I told you, about how I can regenerate my body into a different person? The Master has had a fair few of those, and the last one was Missy. That’s what she called herself.”

“Missy?” Graham repeats.

“Oh, like Master/Mistress,” Ryan says, then makes a face. “Yuck.”

"The Master is a time traveler, like me," the Doctor explains, "and a Time Lord. Generally, the rule with other time travelers is to keep yourselves straight on the same timeline, so you don't spoil the future and cause a paradox. That means no interaction with an earlier or later version of yourself, and no messing around with someone's past or future."

"Don't you break those rules all the time?" Ryan asks, sharing a wry glance with Graham.

"Hey!" the Doctor says, "a little rule-bending doesn't hurt anyone!"

"Then how is this different?" Yaz asks. She crosses her arms over her chest.

"It's more than just bending the rules," the Doctor says. "If the Master and I are two threads running through time, then I've circled back and tangled them up. I’m at the risk of crossing my own path. I know why she was in that shop, and what she does there." The Doctor frowns. "If she doesn't get back and carry out her plan, I never meet – well, someone important to me. Someone that saves my life."

Yaz blinks a few times, confused.

"But you're here now," she says, "so surely that's still going to happen?"

The Doctor shrugs. "At any moment, a small decision could change the course of her path through time. I can’t tell her what happened – why the TARDIS controls worked for her, why I’m looking for her future self, or what is happening in _my_ timeline. One slip up and there’s a paradox, or my personal history changes. If she changes her mind, or doesn't make it back at the right moment, or dies, or breaks a nail... poof! We're all gone. This timeline never existed."

"But you're both time travelers, so how do you ever know that you're doing things in the right order?" Graham asks. "How do you know if you meet her in France in February, and on Mars in March, that one really came before the other?"

"Because Time Lords can sense it," Missy drawls, strolling into the room. "We can smell it, practically, and our TARDISes keep us on the right track. Which is the mistake she made when she butchered the tracking mechanism." She walks up to the console and paws at the tracking controls. The TARDIS shocks her lightly.

"Isomorphic controls are back on," the Doctor says smugly. Missy sticks her shocked fingers in her mouth, playing up the hurt.

Her simple, modern black skirt and shirt are gone. Missy has exchanged it for the style that the Doctor knows her in – a high waisted dark purple skirt and jacket, a white shirt buttoned up tightly to her neck, and a pair of patent leather heels with intricate laces. And –

“That hat isn’t period-accurate,” the Doctor frowns, snatching it off her head. Missy frowns.

“Is that just a top hat, with a watch chain and goggles on?” Ryan asks.

“It’s _steampunk_ ,” Missy says spitefully. “I thought we could go to New Bavaria. There’s a lovely restaurant I know on that moon, a few years before…well. That _was_ a tragedy, wasn’t it?” She smiles venomously.

“What’s ‘steampunk?’” Graham asks, “and why are you letting _her_ pick the planet, anyways – you didn’t want to do this. What if it’s a trap?”

“It’s a _moon_ , seriously, don’t you listen? Where do you find them these days?” Missy tuts. “Used to be, your assistants had spark. Jo Grant, Martha Jones, Purple-whattem...”

“Excuse me, I’m not an _assistant_ ,” Graham protests. “I don’t – assist – with anything.”

“Well, you make that pretty clear, dearie,” Missy mutters, eyeing him up and down.

“Can’t you say anything nice?” the Doctor asks.

“Make me.”

The Doctor grits her teeth and turns away. She’s a little more aggressive with the controls than she needs to be, slamming down a lever and popping a button loose. The TARDIS creaks in response, engines reluctantly taking them to the highly inhabited moon of New Bavaria, year 5,000,000,029.

“One trip, one meal,” the Doctor says, crossing her arms sternly. “My treat. That’s all you get. Any questions?”

“Well, Doctor,” Missy says, exasperated, “are you going to change for dinner? Please tell me you aren’t planning to wear _that_.”

*


	2. Chapter 2

##### DOCTOR

Dusk has fallen on the capital when the TARDIS begins to materialize. The last of three suns has already disappeared under the skyscrapers and tenement buildings of the Metropole. Sounds from traffic and people echo down the block, drowning out the TARDIS engines. No one on the cobblestone street takes note of the blue police box, except for a courier automaton. It quickly rolls backwards and corrects its path around the obstruction.

The Doctor opens the doors and strolls out into the warm night air. The sky is still glowing enough to see the dark outline of dozens of zeppelins hanging in the air, like fish swimming through a sea of sky. Some of them are buffeted by spotlights, and others are decorated with strings of mechanical fairy lights, or giant metal cogs.

_Ca-choo-gah!_

A passing car toots its horn at her. It looks like a cross between a Model T and a spaceship, and it’s covered in giant metal cogs for some reason (even though none of them are actually doing any work).

“Hmmph. I’m not really a fan of steampunk, if I’m being honest,” the Doctor says aloud, frowning.

Yaz, following on her heels, frowns as she looks around. “It looks a little… rustic, for the future,” she notes. From the brick buildings to the gas streetlamps, everything looks like a movie set for a period drama.

Ryan and Graham emerge from the TARDIS, both wearing sleek black evening suits. Graham has chosen to accent his with a cane and top hat. The TARDIS doors creak shut behind them.

“I like when we get to do fancy dress,” Ryan says cheerfully, adjusting his neck tie. “But why do they dress like Victorians, if they’re from five billion years in the future?”

“It’s _Edwardian_ fashion,” Graham says. “Like in _Downton Abbe_ y, you know. Or _Upstairs, Downstairs_.”

“You watch _Downton Abbey_?”

“Will I be alright in trousers?” Yaz asks the Doctor, adjusting her bow-tie. She’s chosen to wear a coat and tails, with patent leather boots and a burgundy waistcoat. “I figured I would, since it’s not actually the 1900’s. I like wearing trousers, sometimes. Easier to run.”

“Where are you planning on running?” Ryan asks, confused.

“We always end up running _somewhere_ ,” Yaz points out.

“It’s just a fashion trend,” the Doctor explains with a shrug. “They say life imitates art. The steampunk thing is a phase in the Metropole. Someone got _really_ into niche genre fiction from the twenty-first century and went a little too far with the aesthetic. Trousers will be fine. Contemporary gender roles are _very_ relaxed these days.”

The Doctor herself is wearing loose, silky turquoise trousers with her usual t-shirt, jacket, and boots.

“Okay. Ground rules, before I let you loose,” the Doctor says, hands on her hips. “One, I want you back in the TARDIS by sunrise. Two, don’t get into a zeppelin that has scarlet markings on the fins. Three, stay away from the coffee, it’ll go right through you. And four: absolutely _no_ gambling. Alright?”

Yaz, Ryan, and Graham stare at her like she’s sprouted another head.

“What about you?” Graham asks. “Are you gonna be alright, alone with...y’know... _her_?”

“Want us to keep an eye out?” Yaz offers.

“ _No_ ,” the Doctor says. “No. I’ll be fine. She isn’t – this isn’t the Master you met,” she lowers her voice. “I know her. I know what she’s capable of. She’s just trying to – to get spoilers from me.” She takes a deep, heaving breath and turns it into a sigh. “Go on, fam. Enjoy yourselves. See the Metropole in its golden age.”

She tosses a coin purse to Yaz with a wink.

As the three of them walk away, Yaz squeals when she opens the purse.

“ _D’you see how many credits are in here?”_ the Doctor hears Yaz say, shoving the purse of plastic coins in Ryan’s face. The three of them round the corner and disappear out of her sight.

The Doctor closes her eyes and takes another deep breath.

“Ground rules,” the Doctor says again. “Before I set you loose.”

“Oh, please, don’t ruin such a gorgeous night,” Missy tuts. The Doctor turns around to see her leaning against the TARDIS, crossing her arms, and pouting.

“Shall we go to a casino? You know what they say, ‘lucky at cards, unlucky in love,’” Missy smirks. “ _You_ could make a fortune.”

The Doctor blanches. “No,” she says. “Dinner. That’s what we agreed to.”

“You’re depressing,” Missy sighs.

“I’m playing along!” the Doctor protests.

“No, you’re _not_ ,” Missy says. “You aren’t even dressed properly – you’ve still got those damn yellow bracers on, and that dreadful coat. You aren’t taking me seriously.”

“I never take you seriously.”

“You won’t even take me on a _date_ ,” Missy _tsks_.

“This isn’t a date.”

“It is.”

“It’s really not.”

“It really is.”

“Did you take me on dates?” Missy asks, “when you met me last? Do I get to share a happy meal with Bow-tie?”

The Doctor stalks towards Missy, pushing her aside to open the TARDIS door. She ducks inside.

She emerges a moment later, bracers gone, wearing a grey silk wrap instead of her jacket.

“Where’s this restaurant, then?” the Doctor asks, ignoring Missy’s taunting and cooing.

“Oh, dear, I thought you’d never ask,” Missy says, taking the Doctor’s arm to lead her down the street. The Doctor shrugs her off with a growl.

*

##### YAZ

Graham and Ryan walk ahead of Yaz and chat cheerfully about the different sights, but Yaz can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

Something catches her eye across the street and she turns just in time. The Doctor and the Master (Missy?) are walking down the pavement.

“Hey,” Yaz calls to her friends. “Look.”

The three of them stop and watch the Doctor and Missy dash for a streetcar and queue up. The Doctor says something to Missy, who laughs vibrantly. Yaz can hear her cackle from across the busy street.

“She’s changed her coat,” Yaz says quietly.

“Do you think we should follow them?” Graham asks. “Make sure the Doctor’s safe?”

Yaz opens her mouth, but hesitates to say yes.

“I don’t think so,” Ryan says. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“I don’t know if she’s thinking straight,” Yaz mutters.

The Doctor pays the streetcar driver and thanks him. She disappears into the back with Missy trailing behind her. Yaz wants to run after her.

“I trust her,” Ryan says simply. He takes Yaz’s hand, and she keeps her feet planted on the ground.

The streetcar drives away into the dark, leaving Yaz feeling all shaken up and boiling inside, like one of the steam-powered cars in front of her.

“Come on,” Graham says, ushering them along. “Anyone fancy going dancing?”

He points ahead at a marvelously lit zeppelin suspended in the air between the skyscrapers. Its signs proclaim the resident band, a so-called ‘Heabet Z’jepo Orchestra.’ A quickly growing queue of aliens (all in formal fancy dress) extends down the block.

“That looks worth a shot, don’t you think?” Graham says excitedly. Ryan tugs Yaz along into the queue.

*

##### DOCTOR

"Name of reservation?"

"Doctor."

“Doctor, party of two.”

The automaton whirs as it processes the Doctor’s request. It is a small, vaguely humanoid thing with bronzed metal and churning gears that look like clockwork cogs. It makes whirring and ticking noises as it moves, and speaks in a high-pitched mechanical tone.

The Doctor knows that this is ninety-nine percent show. By this time period, processing chips are beyond microscopic, robotics are smooth and efficient, and everything is connected to the same psychic hive-mind AI. But people like their cute little robots, no matter what the time period. They like _personality._

If the Doctor were here with anyone else, she’d be explaining this to them. But she’s here with Missy.

“Reservation retrieved. Welcome, Doctor and plus one, to the _Wingfoot_ ,” the automaton intones. "Please make your way to the basket to ascend. Enjoy your evening."

The fancier zeppelins have gravity fields, but the _Wingfoot_ is more traditional, more classy. It’s a smaller airship, short and fat with only a few fins. The Doctor and Missy step into a basket lift suspended by ropes and pullies. As they are raised up into the airship, Missy raises her eyebrows at the Doctor.

"Reservations?" she asks. "Will we have to nip into last month to make them afterwards, darling?"

"Nah," the Doctor says, "they've got online booking. I put in a request while we were still in the TARDIS."

“Clever,” Missy says sarcastically. “Really makes a girl feel special.”

“This isn’t a date,” the Doctor says again. “You blackmailed me into this.”

“Blackmail?” Missy claps a hand between her hearts. “Now, that does sound like me, but that’s not how I remember it.” The basket stops in the cabin and another clockwork robot opens the gate for them to step out.

“Your memory’s going,” the Doctor says, stepping into the restaurant. “Hopefully you’ll forget about me next.”

Missy lifts her skirts as she steps out of the basket, taking the robot’s hand and flouncing her skirts dramatically. The Doctor rolls her eyes.

She stares out the giant windows as they’re led to their seats by a robotic waiter. The city below is glittering with the warm light of a thousand windows. The restaurant is dark enough to see the city view, but of course, it’s never dark enough in the city to see the stars.

There’s a jazz band and a dance floor. The restaurant patrons are from all across the universe, from the moth-like Menoptera to the Zocci, and even a Tree of Cheem. The waiter leads them past the dancing couples to a spot by a window.

The two of them take their seats at the small table. It’s very traditional, not at all the sleek and simple designs of the more stylish parts of the Proto-Human Colonies like New Earth. White tablecloth, oil-burning lamp, a small red flower in a stem vase. Missy requests a certain vintage of wine from their robotic waiter.

“My memory is excellent,” Missy says, continuing their conversation. She takes her napkin from the table and shakes it out before spreading it over her lap. “Remember the party I threw after our twelfth semester? You tried to do a shot for every term, then threw up in my hat. And you wouldn’t even dance with me.”

“It was a stupid hat.”

“You had the _same_ _exact_ _hat_. We had to wear them the next morning at the Commencement. You set yours on fire.”

“It deserved to be set on fire.”

“Did Borusa’s cat deserve to be set on fire?” Missy asks.

“It wasn’t a cat – and I didn’t set it on fire!” the Doctor protests. “It just happened to be in the room when I set the room on fire. And I put it right out.”

“Cat, Flerken, overgrown cobblemouse; same difference. My memory is perfect. I _could_ blackmail you, if I wanted. But I’m not sure how much I really _care_ to, if you understand.” Missy looks up from her nails. “I just wanted to spend some time with my old friend, and you act like that’s a crime.”

“With you, there’s usually a crime involved,” the Doctor says. “Blackmail, for instance.”

“Oh, so clever,” Missy says. “I could say the same about you.”

Neither of them have been looking at the menu, but their waiter returns with a bottle of wine. Cogs click and whir as the waiter holds out the bottle to Missy, who examines it with a nod. The waiter pours a little into Missy’s glass. She swirls it around, giving the Doctor a wink as she takes a sip. Missy offers the glass to the Doctor and smirks. Her dark red lipstick has left a mark on the glass.

The Doctor takes a careful sip.

“Tastes like alcohol,” she says.

Missy nods to the waiter, who pours them each a glass and leaves the bottle. They place their orders (veg for Missy, shrimp for the Doctor) and lapse into a stilted, heavy silence. The band starts a different song, a jazzy number that prompts a rush to the dance floor.

There’s a loaf of thick bread on the table. The Doctor loves bread. She would probably start rambling about her favorite types of bread, right about now, if it was anyone but the Master across the table. She’d have bread over wine, any day. She reaches for the butter.

"Why did you pitch a fit about crossing your timeline?" Missy asks. The Doctor doesn't feel inclined to answer, so Missy goes on.

"Hmm. You aren't worried about breaking the Laws of Time," Missy muses, ticking off a finger. "And it's not like you haven't done it before, always checking your diary with Mrs. Professor Song, meeting in the wrong order." She counts another finger. "You don't _really_ think you'll cause a paradox, do you?"

"I think there's a very strong possibility of something happening that neither of us expect," the Doctor responds through a mouthful of bread. "Every minute we're together there's a possibility that your future plans and actions change, and my past with it."

"How do you know this didn't happen?" Missy asks. "How can you be sure that this wasn't my past? I'm very good at keeping secrets."

“Not that good,” the Doctor says, ripping another hunk off of the bread.

Missy reaches for the bread basket, whipping it away.

"I _like_ meeting in the correct order," the Doctor says, shoving her bread into her mouth. "So I don't have to worry about what I say or do, or the –"

"Consequences?" Missy asks. She grits her teeth. "Oh, we both know how you like to avoid those. Is that what this is about? Having to face the consequences of your actions for once? The consequences being _me_?"

The Doctor flinches and looks away, her eyes darting down to her empty appetizer plate.

"I can't recall the circumstances of my last regeneration," Missy says, "it's a bit fuzzy, someone messing around with the timelines. Is that why you're so guilty? Did you kill me? Finally? Is that why you can't look me in the eye?"

"No!" the Doctor says angrily, slamming her hand down on the table. The silverware rattles. Missy goes quiet out of surprise. A pleased, crocodilian smile grows slowly on her face.

"It's because I failed you," the Doctor murmurs. "Again."

“Intriguing,” Missy says. “But that’s nothing new. You never keep your promises. You always leave.”

“Everyone leaves eventually.”

“You don’t have to,” Missy says softly.

The Doctor sighs, but she just lets the conversation be overtaken by the chatter and music of the restaurant. She takes a sip of her wine and winces a little.

“I bet you’re a lightweight in this regeneration, too,” Missy says dismissively.

Using her fork, the Doctor fishes a few ice cubes out of her water and plops them into her wine glass.

“You’re disgusting,” Missy says. “This is their best vintage.”

“ _It’s_ disgusting,” the Doctor says. “I hate wine.”

“You have the palette of a child.”

“You have the temperament of a child.”

“It’s what happens, when you hang out with children,” Missy says, flicking her hand dismissively.

“You stay away from them,” the Doctor says darkly. She points her fork at Missy, whose mouth forms a perfect _O_ in surprise. “My friends are off limits, understand?”

“Oh no, I don’t understand! Not at all,” Missy says, laughing delightedly. “What have I possibly done to scare you so much? Sounds delightful!” She claps her hands in glee.

The Doctor tenses up, a muscle in her jaw throbbing in anger. Her hand turns into a fist.

“Is this the _date_ you wanted,?” the Doctor growls, “To harass and tease me, with no thought to the people you’ve murdered, the lives you’ve destroyed and defaced? Did you think I could just forget that, drink your wine and play your games, and pretend you aren’t a traitor and a killer? I could never call you my friend again. I’ve changed, Missy. And you – you haven’t. You never do.”

The Doctor stands up suddenly, her chair scraping against the floor.

Missy reaches out across the table and grabs the Doctor’s wrist, just as she had before, in the TARDIS. The Doctor’s pulse jumps wildly. They stare into each other’s eyes.

“Remember the time you tricked that _liiiittle_ fleet of Ice Warriors into sailing into the sun?” Missy asks sweetly. “Or the Family of Blood – couldn’t just let them die, no, you had to give them cruel, torturous immortality. When’s the last time you let someone sacrifice their self to save you and your friends? Hmm? When’s the last time you let the bad guy ‘accidentally’ blow himself up?”

Missy pauses. The Doctor doesn’t blink.

“What’s your body count, these days?” Missy asks. “How many people have you killed?”

The Doctor sits back down.

“You wanted blackmail,” Missy says, “you’ve got it.”

“You take everything out of context,” the Doctor replies. Her voice is thick and heavy in her throat.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Missy sighs. She trails her fingers down the Doctor’s wrist, stopping to brush a thumb over her knuckles. The Doctor flinches away. “Look at all that righteous fury. We’re not so different after all. Oh, if I could give you an army. The things you would do…”

Missy raises her glass of wine in a mocking toast. The Doctor catches her eye and holds her gaze again, but this time there’s something else in it. Something old and steely, cold as ice. Missy sets her mouth into a frown.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Missy snaps, “I’m not him.”

“You will be,” the Doctor replies.

She takes a moment, looking at Missy, remembering the last moment she saw her on the spaceship. The last second, standing there, holding her hand, admitting that she’d only ever wanted them to stand together – telling that old, tired, dying man that she couldn’t.

And why? Why _couldn’t_ Missy change? Why _couldn’t_ she stand with the Doctor, even once? What had she done wrong?

“Do you have any regrets?” Missy asks, breaking the Doctor out of her thoughts. The Doctor panics for a second, thinking Missy is reading her thoughts, but her psychic defenses are still up. Missy just _knows_ her.

“What do you mean?” the Doctor asks. Missy rolls her eyes.

“New body, looking back on the old one. It’s always a rough transition – although I must say, _love_ the feminine touch.”

“It’s not always rough,” the Doctor lies. “I like to think of it as a learning experience.”

Missy snorts. “Assuming you learn from your mistakes.”

“Because you learn from yours?” The Doctor raises an eyebrow.

“I like to think I have better taste in music, in this body,” Missy says, looking slightly offended. “And I know not to touch politics with a twenty-foot pole. They muck things up much better on their own. Your turn.”

The Doctor screws up her face in thought.

“I don’t pull out instruments at random, inappropriate moments,” she says triumphantly, remembering the electric guitar.

Missy pulls a disgusted face. “Oh, god,” she scowls, “please tell me I’ve not got _that_ to look forward to.”

“Wish I could, honestly. Bit embarrassing, to be the guy who brings his guitar everywhere.”

Missy laughs at this, smile turning soft and – _Oh,_ the Doctor forgot how this version of the Master could look so tender and maudlin.

Being in a cage must have killed her inside.

The Doctor thinks back to the mercy she had tried to show Missy while keeping her in the Vault. The takeaway dinners, the tea services, sparse furniture, artificial light, space, books and music from across the ages. How Missy had cried towards the end, naming endless lists of people she’d killed, repeating her grief and guilt over and over until the Doctor had sent her off to sleep with his hands on her temples.

Missy, here and now, takes a sip of her wine, clearly savoring it. When she looks at the Doctor, there’s a strange look in her eye, like she’s savoring her, too. She’ll never again meet _this_ version of the Doctor, she knows that now.

The Doctor remembers other things. Broken china, destroyed furniture, and running from the Vault as she screamed at him. Pleading. A hundred years passed without mercy, a hundred more in the blink of an eye, and Missy _said_ she was trying, that she wanted to change, but did she? How could she ever want to be anything different, if she couldn’t see anything else? If all she saw were the cold dark walls of her prison?

“You played the piano,” the Doctor says, not realizing she’s speaking aloud until she hears the words on her own lips. “I never asked you to play for me.”

“Spoilers,” Missy says, but there’s no snark to it. She’s caught off guard. Her grey eyes are wide and alert.

The Doctor holds out her hand.

“Dance with me?”

“What?” Missy blinks several times as the Doctor stands up, still holding out her hand. “Why?”

“You asked if I had any regrets,” the Doctor says. “I never did ask you to dance with me, at that party. Let’s start there.”

Missy swallows. The Doctor watches her glance at the dance floor, then back to her outstretched hand. Slowly, she takes it.

*

##### YAZ

The Hep!Pep!Zep! Club is as fabulous and glamorous as Yaz could have dreamed. It’s not often the Doctor takes them to these kind of joints. They’re too posh, not her style at all. Yaz rather likes it for a change.

After being charged a hefty entry fee (not that Yaz knows what the conversion rate is to the pound), the three of them step into a beam of light and find their selves lifted into the zeppelin.

“Just like a tractor beam!” Graham shouts excitedly, squirming as he’s suspended in midair. Yaz doesn’t have the heart to tell him it probably is an _actual_ tractor beam.

“Wow. Nice digs,” Ryan says as soon as they land in the entry hall. Yaz is inclined to agree.

The lobby is nothing like any club Yaz has ever seen (not that she goes clubbing, really). The floors are white and gold marble that look like some impossible kind of stone, and the walls are painted gleaming gold with art deco inlay. A dark magenta carpet leads into the ballroom.

Graham and Ryan hold up foot traffic a little as they stand and stare about. Yaz leads the way past dozens of aliens dressed to the nines. They walk through giant doors held open by two golden androids. The ballroom inside is bustling with the sounds of conversation and the Orchestra, which is playing big band jazz music on instruments like nothing Yaz has ever seen.

The ballroom is packed with aliens, proto-humans, cyborgs… dozens of species Yaz doesn’t recognize, and all of them drinking, dancing, and talking.

“This is amazing!” Graham says excitedly, stepping inside. “I can finally show you two my moves!”

Yaz and Ryan meet each other’s eyes and burst into laughter.

“Whatever you say,” Ryan says. “Anyone want a drink?”

“I’ll go get us a table,” Yaz says, forcing a smile. She leaves Graham and Ryan just as they head over to the bar, and weaves through the crowd towards the tables. The dance floor takes up most of the gigantic ballroom, but there’s a cluster of tables to the side, next to a line of large windows. Yaz finds an empty table and sits down with a heavy sigh. She turns to the windows.

Yaz usually loves looking at the stars, but the city lights are too bright. She stares out at the city. She can see more zeppelins hanging in the air, some of them lit by spotlights, others with projections lighting up their sides. Yaz loves seeing the stars on other planets, and the moons and suns of all the different worlds they’ve visited. There are so many people here, from so many different planets.

Yaz knows that she would love this – that she should enjoy every second of this – but she can’t. She wishes the Doctor were here.

Just as Yaz begins to think about the Doctor, Ryan plops down beside her.

“I got you this, like, nonalcoholic citrus punch thing,” Ryan says. He sets a drink in front of Yaz that’s bright orange, and has about half a dozen pieces of fruit skewered on a swizzle stick as garnish. “I dunno about you, but I love the little garnishes.” He raises his own glass in a toast. It’s bright blue, with its own illustrious garnishes.

“I would’ve thought you were the type to want a plain old pint,” Yaz says, cracking a smile. “Or a whiskey, or something.”

Ryan shrugs. “Yeah, but hey. When in Rome, I guess,” he says. They clink glasses.

“Where’s Graham?” Yaz asks.

“Oh,” Ryan rolls his eyes and shrugs. “The bartender is a robot. He’s kind of fascinated.”

“You would’ve thought he was done with robots after the Kerblam Man…” Yaz says. She looks over at the bar to see Graham talking animatedly with the person next to him, some type of alien that looks rather like a cactus.

“This place is wild,” Ryan says, looking around at all the different types of aliens around them. “That robot looks like it runs on clockwork. Is this what the future looks like? I thought it would be a little more hi-tech.”

“The Doctor would know,” Yaz says, her mouth twisting downwards. _If she were here_ , she doesn’t say.

“ _Yaz_ ,” Ryan sighs.

“She could be anywhere!” Yaz says through clenched teeth. “She could be held hostage, or tortured, or dead in a ditch somewhere, and we have no idea. We just – we let her walk off with that woman!”

Ryan snorts, laughing a little. Yaz looks at him in surprise.

“As if we could ever stop the Doctor doing anything she wanted to do,” he chuckles.

“I’m serious, Ryan.”

“I know you are,” he says, his tone changing. “I know you’re upset.”

“It’s more than that,” Yaz says. She looks out across the ballroom, her eyes drifting over the crowds. She finally stops to look out the window. “I’m tired of the Doctor being dishonest with us,” she starts, her voice growing lower and angrier. “There’s so much about her we still don’t know, and she tries to hide so much of it. Why? Why can’t she trust us with this? She’s put her life in our hands before, but she can’t even tell us who she is, not really. Why not?” Yaz feels her face growing hot and stops herself.

“She’s told us loads. She explained how she changes her body, how she stole the TARDIS. She even told us about her planet,” Ryan says.

“Yeah, but she won’t take us there,” Yaz grumbles. “I’ve asked her.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to go home,” Ryan says.

“She wouldn’t even tell me anything about the Master,” Yaz throws her hands up in exasperation. “He nearly killed us, and all she would say is, ‘it’s complicated.’”

“Maybe it’s private,” Ryan replies, a little defensively.

“Maybe she could _trust me_ enough to tell me what’s going on,” Yaz shoots back. “Especially when we almost died because of his vendetta against her. She told me he only did all of that to – to _get her attention_ – like it was some kind of game!”

“Hey, Yaz, it’s okay,” Ryan says, and Yaz realizes suddenly that she’s almost shouting. People are staring at her distastefully over their drinks. Yaz looks down in her lap and sucks in a deep breath.

“Sorry,” she exhales. "Sometimes, I get so angry that I feel like it's going to explode out of me, like I can't contain it all. I'm a bottle of soda, all shook up. I don't know what to do with all of it."

“You’re talking to me about it,” Ryan says.

“Yeah, but you’re not angry like I am,” Yaz says. He looks far too calm, sitting there in his tux and sipping his drink like he’s a natural. It amazes her, how Ryan can look so unphased when she always feels like she’s shaken down to her core.

“No,” Ryan sighs. He looks like he isn’t sure whether or not he wants to speak for a long moment. “Look, I’m not mad at the Doctor for being so secretive. But I get why you are. You don’t have to be sorry about it.”

Yaz isn’t encouraged by this. “Yeah?” she says uncertainly.

“We’ve tried reaching out to her, we all have. You’re a good mate, Yaz, but I don’t think she sees that,” Ryan says quietly. “I think she’s been hurt too many times. She’s closed herself off inside.”

Ryan takes a deep breath for himself. It hangs heavy between them.

“Oh, Ryan,” Yaz says softly. She feels like a jerk, all of a sudden. “Don’t tell me you think you’re the same.”

Ryan chuckles a little ironically. “I was horrible to Graham and my nan, you know that?” he asks. “I was so upset with my dad that I never believed Graham could be any different than him. Like, who was this strange guy that my nan married?”

The two of them glance over towards the bar to see what Graham is up to. He’s not there anymore, having hit the dance floor – with a woman who’s seven feet tall and has tentacles for arms. Graham’s dancing is so bad that it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Yaz and Ryan burst into laughter.

“Have you heard from your dad?” Yaz asks.

It’s Ryan’s turn to glower. “Not really,” he shrugs, expression changing from annoyed to dismissive in an instant. “I guess I thought we’d stay in touch more, after all that with the Dalek. But we haven’t. And whose fault is that? I’ve barely been home.” Ryan shrugs. “Maybe it’s not meant to be.”

“My family are worried sick,” Yaz sighs. “I don’t know what to tell them. How could I explain to them that I’m a time traveler now? They’d just worry _more_.”

“Kind of like how you’re worried about the Doctor, eh?” Ryan says ironically. Yaz turns to glare at him, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“That’s different,” Yaz says.

“Is it?”

“Lying to my mum is one thing. That’s _survival._ But I wouldn’t lie to _you_ , or the Doctor,” Yaz says, looking Ryan right in the eye.

“How do you know she’s lying?” Ryan asks. “She told us what she’s doing.”

“I don’t think _she_ knows what she’s doing,” Yaz says bitterly.

She thinks back to the Doctor’s face when she ran into Missy in the shop, the closed-off expression she’d had in the TARDIS, the way she had looked at Missy as they caught the streetcar.

“Is that why you’re so worried about her?” Ryan asks.

“She said she’s always given the Master second chances in the past,” Yaz says, and she’s amazed she can say it in an even tone. “I’m just worried – is that what this is? Another second chance gone horribly wrong?”

“I don’t know what she’s doing,” Ryan says, “but I trust her to know her own mind and her past with this guy – or lady. She said they grew up together, and we know that means they’ve known each other for like, thousands of years. She cares about this Master person, Yaz,” Ryan grimaces. “As much as we might not like that, we can’t change it.”

“But we can protect her –”

“Protect her from what? Getting hurt?” Ryan asks, his voice firm. “She’s already been hurt. But we can’t stop her from _hoping_. Maybe she’ll find the person she loves, yeah? Maybe she won’t. But she’s allowed love, and hope.”

Yaz blinks, pulling away from Ryan.

“You’re a regular romantic, you are,” Yaz says, eyes widening in surprise. “Where’ve you been hiding all that, Ryan Sinclair?”

“Oh, I get it from my granddad,” Ryan chuckles and points to the dance floor, where Graham has gotten awkwardly tangled up in his dance partner’s tentacles. Yaz laughs until her stomach hurts.

*

##### MISSY

The first number is a jazzy, vibrant tune. The electro-sax flutters through the melody, the bass hums pleasantly through the floor, and Missy can feel the drum beating in her bones.

The Doctor leads them in a fast dance, somewhere between a Venusian Foxtrot and some genuine Earth 1920's swing. Missy lets herself be flung to and fro, dipped down in the Doctor's arms and pulled back to her feet again. Her hearts are racing.

The song ends on a crescendo and they stop, the Doctor’s hand still clutching Missy’s waist, their hands still clasped together. Missy watches the Doctor’s chest heaving from the effort. Her blonde hair has fallen in front of her face. Missy lifts one hand from the Doctor’s shoulder to tuck her hair behind her ear, but the Doctor drops her grip on Missy. She takes a step back.

“Our food should be ready by now,” she says, with a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Missy hates how the Doctor looks away and never meets her gaze.

“It’s not,” Missy says, “one more dance?”

The Doctor nods. “Couldn’t hurt,” she shrugs. She’s enjoying herself a little, Missy can tell.

The singer steps up to the microphone and introduces the next song in a husky voice. Missy doesn’t know it.

“My turn to lead?” Missy asks. The Doctor steps closer and lets Missy place one hand on her waist just as the music starts again. It’s a slow song. The Doctor looks down at her feet self-consciously, as though she hadn’t just proven she was a marvelous dancer. Missy purses her lips.

“This wasn’t how we would have danced on Gallifrey,” she says, because there’s nothing that makes the Doctor such an amusing mix of nostalgic, ashamed, and pained as _Gallifrey_. To her chagrin, the Doctor just looks angry.

“Half the students at the Academy wouldn’t know what music was if they didn’t learn it in class,” the Doctor huffs, clearly trying to cover up her reaction by whining. “You can’t call what they did _dancing_.”

“Excuse me, that’s our culture, dear, show some respect,” Missy tuts, spinning them around slowly. “I think it’s rather cute, actually. Programming computers to make art for them. Blasting electronic beats in hope that they feel something. Probably explains why they regenerate into the same boring old male template, in the Citadel.”

“You have had quite a few bodies that fit into that template, if I can remember them all,” the Doctor notes.

“So have you!” Missy laughs. “It’s not fair, really. You’re finally young and cheerful – and a woman – and I can’t even _keep_ you. I have to go find Bow-tie, with his chin and his nose. Do you grow into that forehead, or does it grow into you?”

The Doctor looks hesitant, although she’s biting her tongue. She looks down at their feet again, even though they’re dancing slowly. It hits Missy suddenly.

“You regenerate again, don’t you?” Missy asks. The Doctor doesn’t say a word. “So this is, what, your fourteenth body? Scandalous. Do I even get to meet Bow-tie? Is his successor _cute_ , at least?”

“You know,” the Doctor says, her tone shifting as she changes the subject, “I think you’ve got your parties mixed up. I don’t remember there being any dancing. Just being very drunk, and very ill.”

“There wasn’t,” Missy says, “because you wouldn’t start it. You always started the dancing. No one else was brave enough to do it. You said – “

“Why wasn’t I brave enough, that time?” the Doctor muses. “What did I say?” Missy can tell from the look in her eyes that she doesn’t remember it. Maybe she thinks Missy is lying.

Missy sweeps them across the dance floor, twirling them in slow circles, holding the Doctor as close as she can. This new regeneration of the Doctor’s doesn’t like touch. She doesn’t like alcohol, or questions, or – or Missy. It hadn’t always been like that.

Missy remembers stars, through the shining dome of the Citadel. She remembers the Doctor’s hand in hers, long before she was the Doctor. Before _she_ was the Master.

The Doctor’s hand is in hers now, soft and warm and damp as it has always been. Her eyes are the same eyes, too, piercing and questioning, and far older than they have any right to be.

"Run away with me," Missy says. She feels her hearts beating in her throat. She isn't playing, or mocking, or pretending. She means it, aches for it.

"I can't," the Doctor replies. “I have to take you back, soon as I can.”

"Can't," Missy repeats, "that's not 'won't.' Yes, you absolutely can, there's nothing stopping you."

"My friends," the Doctor says. "Our timelines. Your general lack of morality."

"Screw 'em," Missy says brightly. "You've got a time machine. Perhaps you know a few good uses for it?"

"Crossing my own timeline isn't high on that list," the Doctor says, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, you're adorable," Missy laughs condescendingly. "What else could TARDISes be for, if not to break the rules? Am I not talking to the person I thought I was?"

"Even if I did, it would never last. Can you honestly say that you think it would end well? The two of us together?" The Doctor's eyebrows knit together.

"Why are you so sure that _I_ would be the one to ruin it?" Missy says.

The song ends. They don’t part, not this time, with Missy too scared to let her go, and the Doctor caught by some invisible thread of reasoning.

“That’s what you said,” Missy says very quietly.

“What?” the Doctor asks, her eyebrows wrinkling.

“On that night you don’t remember. You wouldn’t dance with me, and I walked you home, and you took my hand and asked me to run away with you. I thought you were joking.” Missy swallows. “I would have said yes.”

“You wouldn’t –”

“I would have done anything for you, back then,” Missy says, hating herself for how it comes out as a sob. “Ever ask yourself why? Because I do, all the time.”

She takes a step back from the Doctor. But the Doctor doesn’t release her hand this time, just as Missy herself had held her earlier.

“Sometimes, I think you still would do anything for me,” the Doctor says. “And that scares me.”

Missy blinks slowly. She clasps the Doctor’s hand to her chest before she brings it to her mouth and kisses her knuckles.

The band starts another song. The other dancers ignore them, swirling around the pair of them standing still. Finally, Missy lets the Doctor go.

“Missy,” the Doctor starts, taking a heavy step towards her. Missy feels like the whole world is spinning, too. “Missy, I –” she says again, and then falls forwards, unconscious in Missy’s arms.

*


	3. Chapter 3

##### YAZ

Yaz sits alone at her table in the ballroom. She hadn’t felt like joining Ryan and Graham on the dance floor. By now, the two of them are lost in the crowd of jostling bodies, dancing in some strange mixture of the Charleston and a mosh pit. Yaz just doesn’t feel like dancing tonight. When she finishes her punch, she gets to her feet and goes off to find the toilet.

“ _Geddoff me!_ ”

Shouting echoes in from the hall. Yaz immediately zeroes in on the disturbance: a man being strong-armed out of the ballroom by an android. He sways on his feet drunkenly. After a moment, he’s gone, and Yaz moves on.

She walks past the bar and through another set of doors. The carpets in this hall are a plush, velvety purple. There’s another of the weird robotic attendants here, too, beside a heavy wooden door. It’s made of the same dull gold metal, and even has a violet porter’s hat. Very posh.

Like a set of armor in a castle, it stands stiff and still. Yaz hesitates, imagining she can feel its eyes on her – until she reminds herself that it doesn’t _have_ eyes. She knows the Doctor would explain if she were here.

A vaguely humanoid, vaguely feminine looking alien approaches the android and says something quietly. The android opens the door for her.

After a moment, Yaz follows. She walks up to the door and pulls on the handle, hoping it’s the loo. It doesn’t budge. She knocks.

“When full, I do not sink. When empty, I cannot rise,” the robot intones to her in a tinny mechanical voice.

“What?” Yaz asks. The robot does not repeat itself.

Yaz stands there for a moment, stumped. _Who sets a password on the toilet?_ She glances back down the hallway, past the strange alien people in their faux-historic dress, and stares thoughtfully into the large dance hall. She can still see the large picture windows that look out on the city lights.

“Oh. It’s a balloon,” Yaz says, turning back to the robot. The door opens with a click.

Yaz pushes it open and steps inside. She isn’t entirely surprised to find it’s not the toilets after all.

The room is small, but it’s crowded with people sitting, standing, drinking, smoking, laughing – and all of them gambling. Here, the plush carpets aren’t pink or purple, but blood red. The dark wood-paneled walls are carved with intricate art deco motifs and bordered by maroon curtains. On the other side of the room, behind a cluster of gambling tables, there’s even a small bar. The bartender is another android, this one with six arms; four of them are busy mixing cocktails, and the other two pop a bottle of champagne.

Yaz hesitantly walks further into the room. She can feel someone’s eyes on her, but when she looks around the room, no one is paying her any attention. The table closest to her has something like a roulette wheel at one end. The dealer is a robot, too, this one with only three arms. The roulette wheel spins and clicks away, and the dealer drops a few brightly colored balls into it to bounce around.

“Ho! Blo!” someone shouts. Yaz turns to see a group of Judoon sitting around a hexagonal table and playing a card game. Every few moments, one of them shouts out a single-syllable word that the TARDIS doesn’t translate for her.

At the roulette table, the wheel stops spinning. The balls bounce in the air for a moment before they land, one on red seven, another on blue ∞. Half of the table bursts into cheers as the dealer begins gathering up chips, counting out winnings for some.

Yaz walks on, feeling a little anxious as she passes the Judoon platoon playing cards. _In a balloon,_ she adds to herself. She can think of one person who’d _love_ that.

The table nearest to the bar has a railing set around it, like the craps table she’d seen at Barton’s birthday party, but it looks much different. The symbols and numbers marked on the table are foreign to her – not that she really understood craps in the first place. Yaz watches as the robotic dealer passes the dice to an alien lady with magenta skin. She’s wearing a beautifully embroidered turban in emerald green, and lipstick to match. She clicks her tongue in her mouth as she speaks, making a comment to the small alien next to her, a wrinkly blue creature with a large bulbous head. He chuckles to himself, a nasally sound.

The lady throws the dice and swears a moment later when they come up with two Σ symbols.

“Sod this,” one of the gamblers mutter, an alien who looks like a cross between a person and a blowfish. He throws his last chip at the dealer and stomps off.

Yaz steps up to the table to watch as the gamblers place their chips. The purple lady carefully considers before she sets down each chip, while the blue creature piles half of his onto the large Σ printed on one end of the table. To Yaz’s left, an older man in a black suit and waistcoat sets a few chips across the board in seemingly random order.

“Would you like to buy in, ma’am? The minimum is five hundred,” the android dealer says to Yaz. The mechanical voice startles her for a moment.

“Oh, um, no thank you,” she says. “Maybe next round.”

The other gamblers finish placing their bets, hardly sparing Yaz a glance. She watches as the android dealer gestures for the bets to end and passes the dice to the small blue alien next to Yaz.

“Huzzah!” he yells as the throws the dice, clapping a moment later when the dealer calls out the roll. His pile of chips double, but the purple lady loses half of the ones she’d put on the table. Yaz squints at the table, trying to figure out what the different symbols mean.

“It’s not as complicated as it looks,” says the older gentleman next to Yaz. “The symbols on the dice add up to different numbers, and each section of the table represents a different result: whether or not the roll is high, low, or a precise number. You can even bet whether or not the two dice will match. It’s all a matter of probability,” he says. Yaz watches as he gathers up his winnings.

“Why can’t they just use numbers, instead of these symbols?” Yaz asks.

“Because that wouldn’t be nearly complicated enough,” the man says with a smile, tweaking the corner of his mustache.

Yaz watches the man put down his chips. He puts a small handful on Θ, a few on λ, and leaves a few random ones across the board. He bets on double Ω’s.

The dealer passes the dice to the older gentleman, who shows them to Yaz. The two dice are large, eight-sided, and made of some kind of heavy plastic. They’re a dark blood red that matches the color scheme in here, but when Yaz looks at them closely, there’s a dark smoke moving inside.

“Go ahead, my dear,” the man says, offering them to her to roll.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” she says, but he’s been so kind, and she knows she’s being rude. With his brown eyes on her, she takes the dice.

Yaz throws the dice hard, so they bounce off the back wall of the table and land in the middle. Ψ and Χ. Half the table groans as the dealer takes their chips. Yaz’s new friend loses most of his bets.

“Sorry,” Yaz says, grimacing. “Guess there’s no such thing as beginner’s luck.”

“Ah, that’s okay,” the gentleman says, smiling as he counts the chips he has left. “As they say, ‘lucky in dice, unlucky in love,’ my dear.”

Yaz stares at him. “What did you say?” she asks harshly, paling a little.

“My apologies, Miss, I did not mean to offend you,” he says, straightening up in his seat. “It’s a very, very archaic Old Earth saying. Have you heard it before?”

“Um,” Yaz says, feeling a little guilty for reacting so rudely. “I’m sorry. I think I misunderstood you. I didn’t mean to bother you. I better get back to my friends.” She steps back from the table to leave.

“That’s a shame,” he says, “I was not trying to make any untoward advances. It’s just that, you remind me very much of my granddaughter. She’s always getting herself into situations she didn’t expect, much like yourself when you walked through that door a few minutes ago.”

Yaz feels her jaw drop, and tries too late to hide it.

“You’d think the riddle to get into such a fine establishment would be much harder, wouldn’t it?” the man asks. He counts through his chips as he talks, dividing them into neat piles. “The riddle’s answer; a balloon? We’re in one, of course. Except that most people on this moon have never seen a real balloon, and the one we’re sitting in is held up by anti-gravitational engines, not helium. That is simply ancient technology. It’s a very poor riddle, but a very good password.”

Yaz feels her cheeks growing warmer. “I read a lot,” Yaz lies, sucking her breath in through her teeth. It’s the year five billion and something, right? And this strange vision of the 1920’s is on trend. “I’ve read loads of books from the twentieth century. My friends say I’m barmy, but I _love_ ‘The Great Gatsby.’”

The gentleman is silent as he sets his chips on the table. Yaz is certain he doesn’t believe her, but the rest of the table doesn’t really seem to care. The little alien beside her whispers something to the purple lady, who chuckles. Yaz knows she should leave before her mouth gets her into any more trouble, but she feels something in the pit of her stomach, telling her she can’t walk away.

“Is your granddaughter here?” Yaz asks suddenly, feeling a horrible need to fill the silence. At first, it seems like the wrong thing to say. But the man straightens up and smiles.

“No,” the gentleman says, looking at Yaz with sparkling eyes. “She’s with her own family, now. And she would have been dreadfully bored. And if the two of you truly are alike, she’d have gone off and gotten herself into some kind of terrible trouble.”

Yaz laughs. “I’m not in trouble, yet.” She takes her purse out and sets it on the table. “I think I’m ready to buy in, now.”

*

##### DOCTOR

The Doctor wakes up somewhere damp and dark, as per usual. She’s got a pain in her shoulder, and the heavy, stagnant air isn’t helping her aching head. She really needs to carry around a pocket dehumidifier.

“Those things are rubbish,” someone says to her left, which is when the Doctor realizes she’s speaking out loud again. Missy is perched next to her on an old barrel.

“Oh. You’re still here,” the Doctor says, scrunching up her nose in distaste. Missy drops her jaw dramatically, offended.

“Yes, I am _still here_ ,” Missy says, “Not like I have anywhere to go.” She gestures around the room, which, true to form, is a grimy, dingy, underground cell.

It’s very classic, for a cell: three walls ofconcrete blocks, and one gate made of rusty metal bars locking them in. The cell is lit only by a harsh electric lamp in the hallway outside. It flickers as something loud rumbles past.

The Doctor spares the cell gate a quick glance (if Missy hasn’t escaped, it’s probably well-secured). Someone has installed a complicated electronic padlock. She reaches into her pocket for her sonic, but it’s gone. Her headache throbs.

“They took my stuff, too,” Missy says, looking disgruntled.

“Who’s _they_?” the Doctor asks. Missy just nods towards the gate. Through the metal bars, The Doctor finally sees the guard standing in the shadows – another faux-clockwork robot like the ones at the restaurant. It stands as still as a statue.

The Doctor takes a moment to look around the cell again. She’s lying on a crude, musty cot. Missy’s barrel looks like it’s about to fall apart, and there’s a bucket in the corner. _Great_. Okay. Moving on.

"What happened?" the Doctor asks, jumping to her feet. She's been knocked unconscious often enough to know that it was a toxin, and her aching neck tells her she’s been lying around for a few hours.

"You fainted into my arms," Missy says, a little smugly, "and I may or may not have followed you into dreamland a minute afterwards. Not sure if they were trying to poison us, or just incapacitate. It’s always a toss-up when you don’t know what species you’re poisoning." It’s clear that she’s speaking from experience.

"Ugh. I knew something was off about that wine," the Doctor says, sticking out her tongue. She rubs at a knot in her sore neck, thinking.

"Oh, come here," Missy sighs in exasperation.

"What?"

Missy waves her over and motions for the Doctor to sit on the cot. The Doctor hesitantly obeys.

She feels the cot shift as Missy sits down behind her. Missy places her hands on the Doctor’s shoulders and presses down with her thumbs, rubbing circles into the sore muscles. The Doctor takes a slow, deep breath and tries to relax.

“How long have you been awake?” the Doctor asks, trying to distract herself. “You haven’t found an escape by now?”

“Well, excuse me if I don't pop back in time and bribe the architect to put an escape hatch into one of their cells,” Missy huffs in her ear. Her fingers brush over the sore knot in the Doctor’s neck.

“Ow,” the Doctor flinches. “Okay. Underground, check. And that noise, what’s that? Some kind of train? Are we in the underground?”

“Probably,” Missy says. Her hands are cool against the Doctor’s skin. She always did run cold.

“So. Someone drugged us, kidnapped us, stuck us in some disused railway tunnels with a robotic guard… You’ve been here before, are these old friends of yours with a score to settle?” the Doctor says accusingly.

“Because I’m the only one of us that makes enemies,” Missy says sarcastically.

“Okay, option B: the mafia.”

“The airship wasn’t marked with a mafia affiliation,” Missy says. “Try again.”

“C. Robot uprising?” the Doctor wonders. “Or, D: They think we’re rich, and they’re going to hold us hostage. I dunno. It doesn’t make sense.” The Doctor relaxes a little, letting herself fall back into Missy’s hands, chewing absently on her lip. “Why did they take us? We barely just arrived here. I can’t figure it out.”

“This is going to hurt,” Missy says, pausing.

“It’s alright, go ahead,” the Doctor says, gritting her teeth. Missy presses down on the knot with her thumb, putting pressure on the knot. The muscle lights up with pain for a few seconds before it relaxes. Missy stops.

“There,” she says quietly. “Are you alright?”

“That’s a lot better, thanks,” the Doctor says, rolling her neck on her shoulders. Her head still isn’t quite clear. She pops up from the cot and strides over to the cell gate, thinking.

The robot outside is the same model as the ones at the restaurant – somewhat humanoid, with a fancy bronze exterior, spinning cogs, and mechanical hands. It’s an absolutely gorgeous design. The Doctor knows the metal casing is mostly hollow, though, with a tiny power generator and motherboard, and bare essential hydraulics. It’s not real clockwork at all.

The Doctor rests her head against the cell bars, thinking. A train passes somewhere nearby, sending vibrations through their cell. The clockwork robot stands completely still and silent.

“Real clocks need winding,” the Doctor says, “but you don’t, do you? You can operate on your own principles. So. Why are you following someone else’s orders? Isn’t hurting people against the First Law?”

Missy lays back on the cot with an annoyed sigh.

“I don’t think it has speech receptors, Doctor,” Missy says testily, “but perhaps you can communicate in Morse Code, if you feel the desire.”

“Don’t be so rude, Missy,” the Doctor says, twirling back to look at her, “remember Kamelion?”

“I wish I could forget,” Missy mutters. “Damn thing was impossible to program. Sounded delusional most of the time.”

“So did you,” the Doctor shoots back.

“We saw each other a lot in those days,” Missy says. She rolls over and props her head up on one elbow. “I liked that body. Top three, probably.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve ranked my regenerations,” the Doctor sighs. She turns to examine the concrete block wall so she doesn’t have to watch Missy.

“No, but now I’m going to. Looks like I have the time.” She looks around the cell and yawns. “The one with that dreadful scarf, let’s start with him. Let’s see… fourteen. Down at the bottom.”

“What?” the Doctor squawks, “ _he’s_ the worst? Really?”

“Yes, dear, why else would I push you off a tower? It was worth it, too,” Missy winks. “So. Tell me about your predecessor.”

“Can’t,” the Doctor says. “Spoilers.”

“What does it matter, if I know what he’s like? It is a _he_ , isn’t it?” Missy adds, tilting her head a little. “I can’t tell you how disappointing it is to hear that you’re _finally_ a lady, and I have to regenerate right back into a man. It’s never been just us girls, you know? We could have sleepovers. Paint each other’s nails. Break the Bechdel Test.”

“I’ll let you braid my hair, if you can help me figure a way out of here,” the Doctor says. “Come on, Missy. I thought you were supposed to be an evil genius.”

“How about you pop me into that barrel?” Missy suggests, “and float me down the river to Laketown?”

“Not helping.”

“Miss Grant would have figured a way out of here by now,” Missy says, disappointed.

“Even Jo couldn’t pick an electronic lock and evade a robotic guard,” the Doctor replies. “We’ll have to wait and see what they want with us.”

“ _Boooring_. They could at least have left us a magazine or something.”

“Don’t know about that. Paper is a bit on the old-fashioned side of retro.” The Doctor leans against the barrel. There’s nothing inside it, just the smell of alcohol. One of the few things they still do properly in the year five billion. No clockwork, no helium in their zeppelins, and no pulp magazines, but they still age wine and whiskey in wooden barrels.

“Magazines, magazines,” the Doctor mutters to herself. She straightens up. “Missy, have you read any Asimov?”

“Is that the person who wrote _The Hunger Games_?”

“The first law of robotics, then, the old Earth one,” the Doctor prompts, now jumping from foot to foot.

“Hmm, a robot may not injure a person, or through inaction, allow a person to come to harm,” Missy recites. She waves her hand dismissively. “An interesting rule, but by no means a solid basis for programming. We learned to build better AI when we were children! Very primitive.”

“So was Asimov,” the Doctor frowns, “ _horrible_ misogynist.”

“And a horrible programmer,” Missy says. “But what’s the first law got to do with anything? Is this like one of those old Earth movies, where robots take over the world?”

“Well, New Bavaria is obsessed with that time period! Science-fiction pulp magazines, early film, speakeasies and glamour… nostalgia! Their robots aren’t real clockwork, they’re digital. But they’re still programmed with the old Earth laws of robotics.”

“Which means…?”

“The guard can’t hurt us!”

Missy sits up on the cot. “Great deduction, Doctor, but it’s not actually hurting us _now._ It’s just standing there,” she points out.

“They can’t hurt us, even if they’re ordered to,” the Doctor says.

“Well, that’s a relief. I’m sure that will be useful knowledge when their owners show up with a gun,” Missy says tersely.

“But they can’t _allow_ any harm to come to us, either,” the Doctor says. “It’s in their programming. If they see us being hurt, they have to intervene.”

“So?” Missy says, “if they were _my_ robots, I’d have them leave the room before I killed someone. What are you on about?”

The Doctor smiles broadly. “Punch me,” she says.

Missy narrows her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Go ahead,” the Doctor says, throwing her arms wide open. “I know you’re always spoiling for a fight. Or do you need a reason?”

“It’s heard us talking. Won’t work if it knows we’re faking,” Missy points out.

“Who said we were faking?” the Doctor says. “You’ve tried to kill me before. Come on. Do your worst.” The Doctor hovers there for a moment, looking at Missy, bracing for impact. Missy just stares at her.

“You’re ridiculous,” Missy says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m all yours,” the Doctor whispers.

Missy jumps to her feet. She shoves the Doctor into the wall, holding her there with a steely grip.

Missy strokes the Doctor’s cheek with the back of her knuckles, runs her thumb over the Doctor’s lips. The pad of her thumb is warm and rough on the Doctor’s skin.

There’s a question in Missy’s eyes, a fire. The Doctor nods, _yes._

“When I get back to my timeline,” Missy says in a growl, “I’m going to keep killing you until you regenerate into this complete madwoman.”

Missy kisses her. The Doctor feels her head hit the concrete cell, and suddenly remembers kissing Missy, hundreds of years ago, moments after _he_ first saw her. This kiss isn’t like that one.

This kiss is so much more savage, and desperate, and terrifying – because she knowsthat this is something neither of them can have.

The Doctor finds her hands are tightening on Missy’s waist before she even realizes she’s dropped them there. Her body is warm and solid and completely unrelenting, holding the Doctor to the wall. Missy kisses her hard, taking her bottom lip between her teeth and biting down so that the Doctor flinches, crying out, and leans harder into the kiss. Her body feels like it’s on fire.

Missy pulls away, breath coming heavy now. “Sorry, dear,” she says, and wraps her hands around the Doctor’s throat.

*

##### YAZ

The stack of chips beside Yaz has grown significantly since she started playing.

“Beginner’s luck seems to be on your side, Miss Khan,” the older gentleman – Professor Reyes – had said with a smile. He’d taken Yaz under his wing and taught her more than she ever wanted to know about gambling.

When the little blue man passes the dice to her, Yaz tosses them confidently across the table. The gamblers around her burst into noise as they win (or lose) their bets.

“Beginner’s luck indeed,” the professor says with a smile, leaning forwards on the railing that surrounds the table.

The android dealer moves to collect their bets. Its metal fingers close around a stack of chips – and send them flying across the table.

“Watch it, hollow-head,” the purple lady snaps.

Yaz watches in horror as the robot spasms, throwing more bets aside and knocking someone’s drink to the floor.

The android head snaps up and turns around the table, taking them all in with two yellow, glowing eyes.

Yaz looks around the gambling parlor. The other dealer robots are acting erratically as well; one is raking the chips towards itself, another repeating ‘Bets are closed’ in a grating mechanical voice, and the many-armed bartender is spraying itself with the soda gun. Professor Reyes stands up abruptly.

“You will stop and obey my commands,” he says in a stern voice.

The android freezes in place, its eyes on the professor.

“You will return to your charging station,” he says sternly. For a long moment, Yaz thinks the android is about to reach out and strike the old man. But it turns and rolls away, disappearing behind one of the curtains that lines the wall.

Professor Reyes turns to face the rest of the room. The other androids face him as he speaks, their glowing eyes all focused eerily on him. The alien gamblers are stunned silent.

“You will all return to your charging stations,” the professor says again, loudly. Yaz watches in amazement as the rest of the androids listen, leaving their posts to disappear through the velvet curtain.

“Well, _great_ ,” the blowfish man yells from the roulette table. “Now how am I supposed to cash out my chips?”

Yaz looks around the room. There isn’t a single member of staff in sight. With the robots gone, there is no one to deal, run games, or cash out their chips. She looks at Professor Reyes as the room erupts in shouts and anger. He’s staring towards the curtain where the androids had disappeared.

_I_ _wish the Doctor were here,_ Yaz thinks herself, watching as people start shouting at each other and arguing over chips and money. _Well, she might not be. But I am._

“Oi!” Yaz yells, standing up on a chair. “May I have your attention, please?” she shouts in what she hopes is an authoritative voice. She reaches into her suit jacket and pulls out her wallet, holding it up sideways so it looks like she’s holding some kind of identification badge.

“I am a representative of the PanGalactic Gambler’s Association,” Yaz says. “This has been a...study, of how guests respond to technical difficulties.” A few of the gamblers grumble. Yaz clears her throat. “Your winnings have been recorded by our security cameras, and you will be reimbursed for your inconvenience. The ballroom hostess will handle your claims directly down the hall, to your right.”

Yaz steps down from the chair and straightens her bow-tie, taking a deep breath. She walks over to the curtain where the robots had disappeared and pushes it aside. A dark, narrow corridor extends into the unknown bowels of the ship.

She lets the curtain fall back in place. When Yaz turns, the room has emptied out, except for the Judoon platoon and Professor Reyes. He’s still standing beside the wrecked craps table, eyeing her carefully.

“The PanGalactic Gambler’s Association?” the professor asks, eyebrow raised. “Very convincing. I couldn’t quite make out your identification badge.”

“Yeah? Well, I really hope no one got a good look at it, since it was my driver’s license,” Yaz laughs nervously. The professor glances over at the Judoon, but they don’t seem to bothered with anything other than their poker game.

“Ingenious,” he says, “although I’m not sure how that’s going to get either of us our money back.”

Professor Reyes walks over to the bar. There are a few broken glasses and spilled drinks, not to mention a puddle of soda, but he gingerly walks over the mess and pulls a bottle of something from under the counter, examining the label.

“Can I pour you anything?” the professor asks Yaz. “This city is known for its wine.”

“I don’t drink,” Yaz says.

“A lemonade, then,” he says, reaching for a glass.

Yaz takes a seat on a velvet stool at the bar. She watches the professor pour her drink from the soda gun, and then pour himself a small measure of some brown liquor (Whiskey, scotch? Do they have that in the future? Yaz couldn’t even say the difference.). He sits next to Yaz and asks her permission before lighting a cigar.

“How did you get those robots to listen to you?” Yaz asks, taking a sip of her lemonade.

The professor looks up from his cigar, surprised by her question. “You could say they are very open to suggestion. It is their job to listen and serve.”

Somehow, she doubts this is the whole truth.

“Their job…” Yaz trails off, realizing she doesn’t actually know much about this planet – or moon, or whatever. The Metropole, the Doctor had said, right? Or was that just the city’s name? “Do the androids get paid?” she asks.

Professor Reyes looks at her strangely. “How long have you been in the city, Miss Khan?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. He holds his cigar up to his lips for a moment.

“Er – not long, really. A few hours.” Yaz shrugs awkwardly. “I’m a bit of a tourist, honestly.” _Very honestly, actually._

“I see,” the professor says. “Another party ship from New Earth, then?” He looks a little disapproving, but Yaz doesn’t discourage his assumption. “The androids of the Metropole are treated quite differently than in, say, New New York. They are not considered citizens – in fact, most of them are programmed with a simplistic, non-sentient AI. They are merely machines.”

Yaz chews her lip. “ _Most_ of them,” she repeats. “What about the ones on this airship? How are they programmed?”

“They appear to operate on a wireless telepathic network, with a software package that includes gambling etiquette, customer service, bar-tending...” the professor trails off. “What are you still doing here, Miss Khan? Don’t you think you should go and find your friends? I imagine there may be other disturbances within the club.”

She thinks of Ryan and Graham. She _should_ go find them, really. And the Doctor. Before any of the gamblers come back and call her out for lying to them.

“If they’re on a wireless network, that must be how their software gets updated,” Yaz says slowly. “The way they went haywire, all at once? I bet you anything they reacted to a software update. My phone does the same thing when I download a new app with a bug.”

“The ship _would_ have its own localized broadcast systems to send out updates,” the professor muses, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “The question, then, is whether or not the bug is accidental or intentional.”

“The way that android was throwing the chips aside, it was like it was _angry_ ,” Yaz mutters. She sets down her lemonade. “And the other one, it looked like it was trying to steal everyone’s chips. I don’t think it’s just a computer bug.”

“You may be right.”

Yaz looks at the door that leads out into the hall and thinks about Graham and Ryan. Who knows what trouble _they_ have found their selves in. Who knows what trouble the _Doctor_ is in now. She should find them. The Doctor would know what to do.

Yaz turns to look at the curtain, thinking about the dark hallway on the other side.

_But the Doctor’s not here_.

“I should go and find my friends,” Yaz sighs, standing up. “But first, I want to know if I’m right.”

*

##### MISSY

_Crash!_ The cell door bursts open.

For a moment, time seems to move slowly around Missy. She feels like her head is spinning, like she doesn't need to breathe – the Doctor certainly can’t. She’s gone limp in Missy’s hands. She doesn’t even struggle as Missy gently chokes the life out of her. The Doctor’s pulses jump underneath Missy’s hand and she can feel the bones in her neck. It would be _so easy_ to end it, right here and now.

But the android is looming behind her, the clock is ticking, and she likes this Doctor far, _far_ too much.

Missy whirls around, directing a carefully placed kick to the robot’s midsection. It stumbles backwards. She attacks it again, knocks it to the ground, and bends down to rip off the rounded metal head. It comes free in her hands, wires sparking as they’re disconnected.

Missy holds it up and knocks against the hollow sheet metal. _Cl_ _a_ _ng clang, clang clang_ _._

“Knock, knock, who’s there?” she says, tossing the robot head to the Doctor. The Doctor stops rubbing her throat for a minute to catch it. She blinks for a moment, dazed.

“What?” the Doctor says hoarsely.

“Doctor,” Missy says.

The Doctor stares at Missy.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘Doctor Who,’” Missy complains. “It’s a knock-knock joke.”

“We don’t have time for this,” the Doctor says. She clears her throat. “Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Missy says. She kicks the motionless robot body for good measure. Its legs twitch.

She follows the Doctor out of the cell and into the tunnel corridor. It’s narrow and claustrophobic, with a ceiling that’s far too low. A few nearby lamps are lit, but the rest of the hall is shrouded in shadow. There are puddles on the floor where water has gathered in the uneven dips in the pavement.

The Doctor looks both ways up and down the corridor and stops to press her ear against the concrete wall.

“This way,” the Doctor says, pointing left, but Missy isn’t sure why. The nasty underground hallway looks the same either way, dark and shadowy no matter where they turn.

“Where are we going?” Missy asks, following as the Doctor sets a brisk pace. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the Doctor was trying to lose her.

“We’re in an old part of the underground, right? Some control center they don’t use anymore, probably. But it has to connect to the new section. I’m trying to find the trains,” the Doctor says over her shoulder. “If we can find them, we can find a way up to the surface. Figure out where we are. Find the others.”

“The _others_?” Missy squawks. “The kids and grandpa? What good are they?”

The Doctor stops in her tracks so quickly that Missy nearly barrels into her. She turns to stare Missy down.

“Look, I want to make one thing clear,” the Doctor says, her voice still thick and husky in her throat, “If you hurt them, if you even _touch_ them – I don’t care about the timelines. You will regret it.”

Her eyes are dark with some pain that Missy doesn’t understand yet. It makes her hearts beat faster to think of the possibilities.

“Not to interrupt you,” Missy says innocently, “but, uhhh –” She gestures behind the Doctor.

Another clockwork robot stands in the hall, a silent sentinel. The Doctor turns around just in time for the android to take a step towards them. Her eyes widen comically.

“Run!” the Doctor says, grabbing Missy’s hand and pulling her in the other direction. Missy glances back at the android as they turn a corner, rushing past the last lamp. The robotic feet _clunk_ against the pavement.

“Can you see where we’re going?” Missy asks, letting the Doctor pull her into the darkness.

“Not really,” the Doctor admits. “Is it following us?”

“I don’t know, I can’t _see_ in the dark,” Missy says grumpily. The Doctor stops, and they can both hear the clicks and clunks of movement behind them. Missy can hear the Doctor’s heaving breath stop for a moment. Neither of them let go of each other’s hands.

The footsteps draw nearer, _clunk, clunk._

“Bet it has heat vision,” the Doctor says. “We’d best keep going. You’re going to have to trust me to lead you,” she continues, sounding pained.

“Don’t I always?” Missy mutters bitterly. The Doctor ignores it, but she squeezes Missy’s hand slightly.

They keep moving through the dark underground hallway, the sound of the android hot on their heels. Missy holds tight to the Doctor’s hand while they sprint forwards, only stopping when the Doctor’s outstretched hand slaps against a wall. The Doctor’s hand jerks in Missy’s as she feels around the wall for an exit or opening. She must find another hallway, because she jerks Missy to the right and continues onward, leading Missy deeper into the underground complex.

_Clunk, clunk. Clunk, clunk._

“Drums, drums in the deep,” Missy quotes, a little manically. “They are coming. We cannot get out.” The Doctor ignores her.

“Could you take this one out? Like you did before?” the Doctor asks over her shoulder.

“Not in the dark,” Missy says. “Come on, Gandalf. The Balrog is coming, and we’re running in circles.”

“Do you have a better idea?”the Doctor spits angrily, stopping suddenly in her tracks. Missy trips over her skirts.

Missy yelps as she finds herself sprawling in the darkness. Then, she feels the Doctor’s arms around her, catching her before she hits the ground. “Sorry,” the Doctor says sheepishly. She sets Missy upright.

_Clunk, clunk._

The Doctor tenses beside Missy.

“Wish I had my sonic,” she mutters.

“You rely on that thing too much. It’s a crutch. Use your brain.”

"Hush up, I'm thinking," the Doctor says. She sniffs the air. Missy takes a deep breath, too. Must and mildew and sulfur and damp… She feels the Doctor moving towards one of the walls of the pitch dark hall, and imagines that she’s putting her ear to it, listening.

Missy can’t hear anything except the _clunk, clunk_ of the android drawing closer. _Use your brain_ , Missy screams in her head.

“You _can’t_ be out of ideas,” she says.

"Well, I can hardly think with you nattering on every moment," the Doctor snaps back. "Can't you ask any relevant questions? You're like Gollum, whining and sniveling and – Oh!" Missy imagines the Doctor holding her finger triumphantly up in the air, even though it's pitch black.

"Oh?" Missy repeats, bored. "There's still a killer robot following us, but _do_ pause for effect."

"Riddles in the dark," the Doctor says. "’What has it got in its pockets?’"

Missy laughs. "What? I don't know, I got this skirt from your TARDIS, you should kn – hey!" She yelps as the Doctor plunges a hand into her skirt pocket. "You dirty old man!”

"Missy," the Doctor pauses. "You've got a knife in your pocket."

"Or maybe I'm just happy to see you."

"Have you had this the whole time?"

"Apparently," Missy says, "I didn't check my pockets. I got this kit from _your_ TARDIS, you know. Technically, it’s _your_ knife."

"Wouldn't they have taken it from you? They took the sonic."

"That screwdriver isn't a weapon," Missy says, “not even close.”

“Aha!” the Doctor pulls something from her pocket. A moment later, Missy hears the _snick_ of a match being lit. The Doctor’s face flickers into view in front of her. “Everlasting matches,” the Doctor says joyfully, grinning at Missy. Missy stares at her. The corner of her mouth twitches, almost smiling back.

The match flickers a little, a little bit of soot flying to the side. The Doctor’s eyes follow it. A draft. She holds the match out and takes a few steps away from Missy.

“There’s a doorway,” the Doctor says. “And it must lead somewhere else, if there’s air currents. I can smell it, can’t you? Come on.” She grabs Missy’s hand again, leading the way with the match held out in front of her.

As soon as they pass through the archway into the next room, Missy hears the rushing of water. There room isn’t large, it’s empty but for rubble and puddles of water. An abandoned maintenance room. In the middle of the floor, there’s a rusted metal grate. Missy can hear the water underneath, even if she can’t see it.

“Old sewer access,” the Doctor says. “Is there anything to block the door?”

Missy looks around. The room is empty. All the old equipment was taken when they closed down this part of the underground, probably a hundred years ago.

“No,” Missy answers. “We’d best go back into the hall, before we get trapped here.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” the Doctor says, reaching down and pulling up the sewer grate. She kneels down, trying to use what little light the match puts out to see below.

“I am _not_ going down there,” Missy says indignantly.

“It’s just a storm sewer,” the Doctor says, taking a long, loud sniff. Missy can still smell musty, dirty water.

“How do you know it leads anywhere?” Missy asks. “Spend a lot of time in sewers, do you?”

“You’d be surprised,” the Doctor says. “The water is running downhill. It’ll lead to a main waterway, and there will be more access points. _And_ the android can’t follow us. Too much water, it’ll short out its circuits.”

“This is the daftest idea you’ve had yet,” Missy snaps.

“You’re the one who suggested I float you down the river in a barrel,” the Doctor retorts. She begins to climb down into the hole, using the metal rungs set into the concrete. Missy watches the light slowly disappear.

_Clunk, clunk_ from the hallway. Missy has a choice to make.

“Are you coming, or what?” the Doctor’s voice echoes up to her.

She kneels down to look at the Doctor, standing on the last rung, holding the last match to look up at her. Her blonde hair falls in her face and she shakes it out of her eyes.

“I promise I’ll get us out of this,” the Doctor says. She looks so… honest.

Missy takes a deep breath and follows the Doctor down into the water.

*


	4. Chapter 4

##### DOCTOR

The water takes the Doctor under quickly. She doesn’t resist as it pulls her down the drainage pipe like a violent water slide. The pipe suddenly drops out from under her and she’s falling, sucked down into the deep and dark water. She fights the current, struggling to remember which way is upwards, trying to swim.

The Doctor surfaces with a gasp.

“Missy?!” she yells over the roaring water. There’s light coming from somewhere, but she can’t tell where. The water is too loud. It drowns out her voice. She treads water for a moment, looking around, reaching out with blind fingers. “Missy!” she calls out again.

There’s a great splash from behind her. _The drainage pipe._ The Doctor dives down instinctively, eyes open in the stinging water, looking desperately for the dark shape of Missy’s body. The water is dusty and cloudy, and the light hardly shines down into it. The Doctor sees movement out of the corner of her eye and swims towards it, reaching out. Her hands touch cloth and she grabs hold, pulling Missy towards her.

Missy struggles a little, batting her hands off, and the Doctor lets go of her for a moment. Enraged, she grabs for Missy again, her movements slowed by the weight of the water. Missy moves out of her reach. The Doctor tries to call out to her, bubbles streaming from her lips, but the sound is muffled. There’s only one way.

The Doctor closes her eyes for a moment.

_Contact_.

Nothing. She opens her eyes and grabs for Missy’s arm. Her grip is knocked loose again.

_Contact_.

She tries again, opening up her mind and trying to keep her concentration, trying not to get caught up in the current and swept away, reaching out for Missy – but Missy doesn’t answer her.

The Doctor wraps her arms around the dark shape in front of her and holds tight, kicking her legs to try to keep them upright. She tries to swim upwards, but Missy’s weight drags her down, her skirts tangling around the Doctor’s legs. It takes a moment for the Doctor to realize that the body in her arms isn’t fighting her anymore.

Finally, they break the surface of the water. The Doctor gasps for breath.Her hearts sink when she doesn’t hear Missy doing the same. Missy’s face is cast into shadow, her head limp and lolling.

The Doctor looks around anxiously. She may be fit, but she’s so frustratingly small in this body. She can’t keep the two of them afloat for much longer. Finally, she finds the light and swims towards it, past pillars and drain pipes from all around. _There_. She spots it. Another metal ladder, leading to a grate just like the one they’d climbed through to escape the android.

Missy is heavier than the Doctor remembers, but it’s probably the water weighing down her skirts. The ladder rungs lead down into the water. The Doctor grabs hold of a rung and pulls Missy in front of her, balancing Missy between the ladder and her own body. The water rushes past them.

The Doctor starts to slowly pull the both of them up, one rung at a time. First she pulls herself up, then Missy, resting her body against the ladder. It feels like it takes an age. The water sucks at Missy’s skirts and the Doctor nearly slips, almost sending the both of them tumbling back down into the water.

Finally, she reaches the grate. It takes all the strength she has left to push it aside and pull herself and Missy up onto the dirty concrete. They seem to have found some sort of boiler room – a power station, pumping power up from the underground river?

The Doctor lies on her back and gasps for breath. The yellow electric lamp above them burns itself into her vision. Her muscles are aching.

She turns on her side, but Missy still hasn’t moved. Groaning, the Doctor pushes herself up.

“Missy,” she says, shaking her. Missy isn’t breathing. Respiratory bypass has kicked in. “Missy, come on, I need you to breathe through your mouth, now,” the Doctor says loudly. She takes Missy’s wrist and feels her pulses. They’re just barely there, fluttering like a butterfly she’d stepped on.

“Missy, please,” the Doctor pleads. Desperate, she reaches into Missy’s pocket and rummages around for a few moments, praying it hasn’t all been washed away by the water.

“Aha!” She pulls out a small, spear-point pocket knife in a sheath.

The Doctor bends down over Missy. She unbuttons Missy’s shirt hastily, her cold fingers fumbling with the buttons. Missy's chest still doesn’t move. The Doctor pulls the shirt away and sighs when she realizes Missy is wearing a full Edwardian getup – petticoat, corset, and all. Impatient, the Doctor rips open the front of Missy's ruffled petticoat, sending buttons flying. She pulls it down and rolls Missy over.

"Sorry," she says, before taking the knife and cutting the corset laces at Missy's back.

The Doctor pulls the corset off of her, throwing it aside and rolling Missy onto her side. She had been wearing a white linen chemise under her corset, but she's still soaked to the skin and freezing.

"Come on," the Doctor says, "wake up, please."

Missy’s head finally moves. She coughs weakly. Water trickles out of her mouth, and then she’s breathing again, her body wracked with coughs.

The Doctor kneels beside Missy as she coughs up water. After a few minutes, Missy uses the Doctor’s shoulder to pull herself upright.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” the Doctor asks, looking her up and down. Missy shakes her head _no._ Her eyes are wide and dark. “Don’t try to talk,” the Doctor says when she opens her mouth.

“Like hell I won’t,” Missy says, her voice grating and hoarse. “That was the stupidest bloody thing we’ve ever done.”

The Doctor stares at Missy, eyebrows raised. “Not by a long shot,” she grins.

Missy laughs, and suddenly they’re kids again, soaking wet from some misadventure or another. They lock eyes and giggle.

Missy leans in closer, the smile hanging from her lips. Memory shoots through the Doctor in a flash – suddenly she sees Missy leaning in to kiss him in the Vault, the Master pulling him in by the ruffles on his shirt, the Master leaning into her face to tell her about the destruction of Gallifrey – and she pulls away from Missy.

Missy freezes. The Doctor watches her face begin to close off.

_That’s not her, not yet_ , the Doctor thinks, reaching forwards to brush a lock of wet hair from Missy’s forehead.

“We’ve done a lot stupider,” the Doctor says, bridging the gap between them to kiss Missy.

*

##### RYAN

“I _told_ you that thing reminded me of the Kerblam Man,” Graham says pointedly, dabbing at his suit with a handful of napkins. They come away sopping wet with tonic water.

Ryan looks at the sad, limp figure of the android behind the bar. A harassed-looking man in a green suit had run over to the bar when the android began flinging drinks at guests. With a careful _thwack_ _I_ to the back of the android’s neck, he had disabled it – and then apologized profusely to Graham, who was directly in the line of fire.

“I’m never looking at Roomba the same way again,” Graham continues, picking a cocktail olive out of the pocket of his suit jacket. He sniffs it cautiously before popping it into his mouth. Ryan wrinkles his nose.

_Crash._

The shouts from the crowd call Graham and Ryan’s attention towards the entrance, where the two golden androids manning the ballroom doors have slammed them shut. Ryan whirls around to see the other robots in the room come to a halt. A waiter drops a tray of canapes on the ground, and another falls to the floor, the lights going out of its eyes as it shuts off.

“Oh, here we go,” Ryan says under his breath. “Can’t even enjoy a night out. Typical.”Ryan pulls Graham away from the ballroom floor and behind the bar, tugging him down underneath the shelter of the counter.

“What the hell is going on?” Graham asks, but Ryan shushes him.

“Where’s Yaz?” Ryan hisses, popping up from behind the bar to peak around the room. She isn’t anywhere near the table where he’d left her.

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen her since we came in,” Graham says.

Ryan watches the rest of the androids go haywire. Some of them stand in place, an arm or leg moving erratically, while others menace the guests or turn over the furniture. Ryan ducks back behind the bar and pulls out his phone to dial Yaz.

“Straight to voicemail,” Ryan says, lowering his mobile. “I’ve been telling her to keep her phone charged up!”

“Maybe she’s off powdering her nose,” Graham says. “She might be able to get out of here and get the Doc.”

“I don’t know about that, Granddad,” Ryan says, as a chair flies over their heads and crashes into the wall behind them, shattering bottles and sending glass and liqueur flying. “I think we’re on our own, this time.”

*

##### DOCTOR

The maintenance room is dusty and dirty, but at least it’s warmer than the sewers. Heat rolls off the giant metal boilers and the pipes that line the ceiling. A few yellow lamps are the only lighting. They cast a sick light over everything.

The Doctor has already explored the room. It isn’t staffed by robots _or_ people, and there isn’t much equipment, either. It’s a primitive power station setup, likely a low-budget source of power for the city above. They must be below the city slums.

Their only exit is a heavy metal door – locked, of course. There’s no window or porthole, and no tools she could use to pick its electric and manual combination lock.

The Doctor and Missy sit across from each other with the warm metal boilers at their backs. The Doctor’s muscles are aching and tired, but that’s hardly anything new. Her blood has finally calmed down from the adrenaline of running and swimming, of heaving Missy’s body out of the water and the feeling of her cool skin against her own. She can’t look at Missy.

“I miss my sonic screwdriver,” the Doctor says with a sigh.

“That’s because you lack imagination,” Missy says. The Doctor doesn’t snipe back for once, just shrugs and looks contemplatively over at Missy. In the strange cast of the yellow light, Missy looks jaundiced and drawn. While the Doctor stares at her, Missy suddenly gets to her feet and starts stripping down.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" the Doctor blinks in surprise and panic.

"What do you think?" Missy glares at her. "I'm wearing about ten layers, and they're all soaking wet."

The Doctor had already removed Missy’s shirt to get at the corset. Missy drapes it over a pipe on the boiler to dry. She steps out of her skirt and hangs it there, too. Her shoes are kicked off onto the floor.

The petticoat is next. Missy pulls it over her head and examines the front, frowning at the buttons the Doctor had ripped off in her haste to get to the corset.

"What a shame. That was a beautiful outfit," Missy says, raising an eyebrow. "Fit me like a glove. Your TARDIS must like me, if it’s finding tailored clothes for me."

The Doctor doesn’t answer her. She remembers the purple skirt and jacket from another lifetime, although now they’re stained with dirt and dust. The future Missy had left them on the TARDIS sometime between being taken into the Vault and leaving on the Mondasian ship. And this Missy had chosen them again, because she likes now what she liked then. It was very nearly a paradox.

Missy begins to fiddle with the straps holding up her stockings. She catches the Doctor’s eye and smirks. The Doctor looks away, embarrassed.

In just her short white chemise, Missy looks very small and vulnerable. She’s still soaked to the skin, her wet hair coming down out of its pins. Missy takes those out next, setting them in a small pile. Her damp hair falls over her shoulders in waves. Then, she retrieves the corset from where the Doctor had thrown it on the floor.

Missy sits cross-legged against the boiler and takes her knife in hand. The Doctor watches as Missy tears apart the corset and efficiently pulls out the boning. She examines the strip of metal in her hand before setting it next to her on the floor.

“I thought I only ruined the laces, not the corset,” the Doctor says, taken aback. Missy pulls a grommet from the corset and glares at her.

“ _You_ may not have a sonic screwdriver,” Missy says, “but I’ve got a corset, twelve hairpins, a small knife, a packet of wet matches, and…” Missy picks something out of her lap and tosses it to the Doctor: “A tuning fork.”

The Doctor catches the tuning fork in her hand. She hits it against a pipe, then touches it to the side of the boiler to hear the sound. Missy rolls her eyes.

“What has it got in its pockets,” Missy says, back to _Lord of the Rings_. “Your turn, Doctor.”

The Doctor frowns. She has deep pockets in her trousers, but there’s nothing interesting in them. The androids had taken her credits and her sonic, but what else did she carry with her? A pack of now-sodden chewing gum, pocket lint, a paperclip, chapstick. The TARDIS key. She pushes all of it – minus the TARDIS key – into a pile towards Missy, thinking. Missy watches her slip the key back into her pocket.

“Locks can’t keep me out, dear,” Missy says. “Not for long, at least,” she adds pointedly, and goes back to pulling out corset boning.

“ _You_ kept me out,” the Doctor says suddenly. “Of your head. I tried to make telepathic contact with you, so you would let me help you. What was that about?”

“You’re the one who said no spoilers,” Missy replies evasively.

“I was trying to send you a message, not let you into my memories.” The Doctor frowns.

“Maybe I don’t want you in my head,” Missy says haughtily. The Doctor remembers the last time they’d communicated like this, mind to mind – for Missy, at least. In the wasteland, on Earth. The Doctor had pressed his forehead to the Master’s and heard the drumbeat for himself.

The memory of Paris is closer to the Doctor. But Missy doesn’t know about that, not yet. Just like she doesn’t remember killing Bill. _That_ memory is all too fresh. Maybe Missy is right.

“I hate that look in your eyes,” Missy says, startling the Doctor out of her thoughts.

“What look?” the Doctor blinks.

“You’re _remembering_. Thinking about all the dirty nasty things that future-me has done,” Missy replies. She sets the scraps of corset aside. “Have you already started a list of the people I’m going to kill?”

“Stop it,” the Doctor says. “That’s not –”

“You know, you could change it,” Missy says animatedly, mockingly. “Kill me right now, and have it out with my next regeneration before the paradox kicks in and writes us both out of existence. All those lovely little people would still be living, breathing, and wasting their lives away. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it?” Missy asks, holding up the knife. “If only you had let me drown.”

“Is that what you want?” the Doctor asks.

“I’ve _never_ wanted to die yet,” Missy sneers. “You should know that. The bodies I’ve stolen to keep breathing… disgusting, some of them.”

“You seem pretty keen on your current one,” the Doctor notes.

“It’s the novelty of being a woman, I suppose,” Missy says. “It’s been such a long time. A change of scenery is good.”

“Dunno that I’d call it a ‘novelty,’ personally,” the Doctor says. “But you – you’re a regular chameleon. Changing to ‘Mistress,’ instead of ‘Master…’ Didn’t you think of the connotations of that name?”

“What, that I’m _your_ Mistress? The other woman? The sounds like something a man would come up with.” Missy idly counts out the pieces of corset boning in her lap. “You _did_ have a wife when I made the name change. That’s funny.”

“I hate to break it to you, but River and I weren’t exactly monogamous. She wouldn’t have cared,” the Doctor points out, her voice a tad sharp.

“ _Weren’t_? Past tense?” Missy parrots, pouting a little. “Oh, how sad. I wonder if she would be as disappointed as me to learn that she missed out on your first lady regeneration.”

The Doctor doesn’t respond to this. She watches silently as Missy opens the Doctor’s pack of chewing gum and begins sticking corset grommets together in a stack.

“You can always call me ‘Master’ again, if you like that better,” Missy drawls to fill the silence. She looks up at the Doctor with a smirk.

The Doctor thinks about it seriously for a moment. _The Master is a dangerous woman_ , she tries, testing out the feel of it in her own head. She would struggle to break the habit of calling her ‘Missy,’ now – although she had learned to call her ‘Master _’_ once, a long time ago, after a hundred years of calling her a different name. Of course she would do it, if the Master asked. The Doctor has a horrible thought.

"It's not always about me, is it?" she asks. "You can't have chosen that name just because you thought –”

"Oh, because the whole universe revolves around _you_ ," Missy says sarcastically. "I can't even pick out a name for myself without it being about _you_ and your stupid wife. We're all just satellites, caught in your orbit." Her voice is low and nasty.

"A couple of hours ago, you were begging me to take you with me," the Doctor says, a little cruelly. "What's changed, Missy? Remembered how much you hate me?"

"Oh, I'll never forget that," Missy replies quietly. "It makes me sick, thinking about how I used to follow you around like a puppy. No matter where I went, you were always in my trajectory. All of time and space, and I couldn't go a month without you showing up to ruin one of my projects."

"I used to think it was fate, leading me to find you and stop you. _Someone_ had to,” the Doctor says.

"Or, your stubborn old TARDIS had a crush on mine," Missy laughs sourly. "Or, the Time Lords were interfering."

"Probably," the Doctor admits reluctantly.

"You should have let me destroy them when I had the chance," Missy says.

"Don't joke about that," the Doctor snaps before she can stop herself. Missy looks up from her tinkering to stare.

"Does it still sting, to think about how you almost did it – or did you really kill all of them, I wonder?" Missy muses. She's stuck all of the metal grommets together into a makeshift tube and attached a few bent hairpins to it. She smacks it in her hand, testing it.

"Did you rewrite time later once you figured out a way to save them? Do you still remember what it felt like, to activate the Moment and feel Time unravel around you? Does that reality still exist in your mind?" Missy leans forward, smiling. "Tell me. No one else could possibly understand."

"You'll never understand," the Doctor whispers. Her face is dark.

"Oh, I could, if you'd let me."

"No." The Doctor shakes her head. "You can't. Because you'll never try."

Missy sets down the tube she’s made and crawls across the floor towards the Doctor.

“You never let me try,” Missy says, sitting on her heels beside the Doctor. She reaches out and takes the Doctor’s hands, bringing them up to her temples. “And _you_ never try, either. Show me. Show me everything.”

“You know I can’t,” the Doctor says, voice pleading. “The timelines –“

“I want to know how you feel,” Missy whispers. “Please. Just that. I want to feel it, too.”

The Doctor closes her eyes and takes a shaky breath. “Okay,” she says finally.

*

##### MISSY

_Contact._

The Doctor’s mind is a storm unlike anything Missy has ever seen.

Rage. Guilt and shame and hurt and grief. And rage, rage beyond any fire and flame Missy herself has felt.

Missy sees Gallifrey as it must have been after the war, a burnt orange husk with a broken citadel. She sees a black hole, and Cybermen, Monks, Daleks, a thousand nameless little humans. She sees herself hurling a china tea cup onto the floor, falling to her knees in a cemetery, holding the Doctor’s hand in hers before letting it fall.

The cement of the boiler room is cold and gritty underneath her knees, her body is freezing in her wet clothes, but the Doctor’s hands on her temples just _burn._

Missy _is_ a satellite, after all, flying into a sun. The Doctor wants her, wants to pull her in whether or not she’s burnt to dust in an instant. Missy doesn’t know if she wants to pull away, or if she wants to stay and bask.

The Doctor makes the decision for her and pulls away. She looks down, ashamed.

“Now you’ve seen it, is it what you expected?” the Doctor sneers. Missy just stares at her, open-mouthed. “Is that what you wanted?”

Missy just stares at her. _Isn’t it?_

She had thought this Doctor was _hers_ – that she was a black hole collapsing in on herself, not a burning star. Has Missy ever felt _this much?_

“I wish you were my Doctor,” Missy says, staring at her. “I wish I could burn half as much as you do.”

“Is that all you want? To burn and conquer?” the Doctor whispers. “Don’t you ever want to be something different, something new?”

Isn’t this what she had wanted? To see the Doctor underneath her, to know that the Doctor is _hers_ , down deep in her bones, that the two of them are made of the same stuff? Missy isn’t so sure anymore.

Perhaps she does want to kill her. Or maybe she just wanted a distraction for a few moments. Maybe she was so used to defining herself by what the Doctor hated, that she couldn’t imagine herself being something the Doctor could _want_. Perhaps she was wrong, after all. (Or had she only ever wanted this Doctor because she couldn’t have her in the first place?)

“You’re the one who wants to be something new,” Missy says. She’s still practically sitting in the Doctor’s lap. She dares herself to reach out and tilt the Doctor’s chin upwards. “You don’t want to forgive me. You want forgiveness yourself. Why?”

The Doctor looks away.

“What have you done that needs forgiving?” Missy asks.

“Spoilers,” the Doctor spits. Missy almost wants to slap her. But Missy doesn’t want to hurt her – does she?

“Why are you so ashamed of being angry?” Missy continues, stroking her cheek.

The Doctor places her hand over Missy’s and pushes it away.

“It’s not me. It’s not who I am. I don’t let my emotions control me, I don’t choose my feelings over kindness. You know that better than anyone,” she says.

"Anger isn't always a fatal flaw," Missy says. There is steel and ice in her voice. "It's kept me alive, more often than not."

“This isn’t about survival.”

“If I know you better than anyone, then you know me just as well,” Missy says. “Everything is about survival. Life is a balance of wants and needs, and you need to stop being ashamed of them.”

The Doctor winces. “That’s not why I feel shame.”

“You’re ashamed of _me_ , aren’t you?” Missy says bitterly. She closes herself off a little, rolls her neck to the side, tries to make it clinical. “Embarrassed that you understand me so well, that you love me – don’t deny it, I know you love me. You’ve always loved me. And you’ve always hated that you do.”

“Not as much as you do,” the Doctor murmurs, so low Missy can barely hear her.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Missy sighs. “I hate you as much as I love you, sometimes. Not because of it, but alongside it. Who knew one body could be full of so much... feeling?”

The Doctor stares at Missy for a long, quiet moment. Missy knows she’s thinking of him, the future Master, just from the fire burning in her eyes.

“Are you admitting that you do love me?” the Doctor asks simply.

“I’ve never tried to hide it,” Missy says. “You just haven’t been paying attention.”

She kisses the Doctor then – to punctuate her statement, to stop the Doctor speaking, to keep herself from feeling any kind of vulnerable over her own feelings – and when Missy claims the moment, the Doctor kisses her back.

When she pulls away, she can see she’s twisted the knife a little further into whatever guilt the Doctor has worked up. Missy feels a sort of satisfaction to watch the Doctor punish herself like this – especially when it barely takes any effort on Missy’s part.

Missy pushes herself to her feet and walks back to her warm spot against the boiler, picking up her lock-picking device once more.

The Doctor is quiet while Missy finishes her lock-pick. It’s rudimentary but functional. Missy had used all of her corset's grommets, half of the boning, a considerable amount of chewing gum, and most of her hairpins. It looks something like a long tube with a lever on one end...and it's very sticky.

It doesn’t look like the Doctor is going to do anything but sit there and let the ghosts of Missy’s future timeline haunt her, so Missy gets to her feet. She steps back into her skirt and shoes, now that they’re mostly dry. Her stockings are ruined, and her petticoat is ripped to pieces. She leaves them on the ground and buttons her shirt up partway. She looks a mess, but she's not going out in just her underthings.

As she starts to twist and pin up her damp hair with her remaining hair pins, the Doctor starts to stir, blinking up at Missy stupidly.

"What are you doing?"

“It’s time we get out of here, and get back to your TARDIS,” Missy says with a sigh. The Doctor stands up abruptly and brushes off her trousers.

She talks like she’s just woken up from a dream. “What? What about the androids? And my friends, we have to –”

“They’ve got mobile phones, haven’t they?” Missy asks. “It’s time we get off this moon.”

The Doctor follows Missy to the door. Missy holds one end of the device against the lock and crouches down to fiddle with it for a moment. She tugs the lever, and the door opens with a _beep!_

“You made that out of bits and pieces of a corset?” the Doctor asks, reluctantly impressed. “That’s brilliant.”

“Well, one of us had to come up with _something_ , without your precious screwdriver,” Missy says dryly.

"I was thinking!" the Doctor protests. "I didn't want to interrupt you. I had my own plan, thank you very much!"

"Which was...?"

The Doctor shrugs sheepishly, looking over her shoulders at the boilers. "Trigger an explosion and blast the door off its hinges?"

Missy sighs. "And you think _I'm_ the violent one."

*

##### YAZ

The service corridor is dark and claustrophobic. When Yaz pulls aside the maroon curtain, she can’t see more than a few feet down the hall. Metal support beams, pipes, and wires line the walls. There is no glitz and glamour here, no pretending that it’s some strange version of the 1920’s. Yaz is reminded that it’s the year five billion and something, and she’s on a completely alien world.

Yaz is surprised when Professor Reyes pulls some sort of futuristic torch out of an inner pocket and hands it to her.

The beam of the torch hits a wall twenty feet in. There’s a silver door and a control pad.

Yaz and the professor walk to the end of the corridor and stop at the door. The professor fiddles with the controls for a moment, and then the doors slide open silently. It’s a pitch dark service elevator. Androids don’t need lights, she supposes.

Usually, Yaz would balk at the dark lift, but she steps forwards smartly.

“You don’t have to escort me or anything,” she says to the professor. “I can handle myself.”

“I have no doubt that you can, Miss Khan – which is why someone has to keep you out of trouble,” the professor says, and Yaz laughs. His face is hidden by shadows, but she can make out a grim smile in the light of the torch.He steps into the lift. “Besides, I believe I may be of some assistance, at the very least.” He presses a button in the elevator and the doors close.

“What are you a professor _of_ , exactly?” Yaz asks, feeling like she’s asked someone _else_ this same question a thousand times.

“Oh, I suppose you could call it a type of mathematics,” the professor responds. “Although my specialty is quite more complex.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Yaz chuckles.

The service lift takes them up in an instant, the doors opening on a long corridor. This one is lit, but Yaz doesn’t see any people about – or robots.

“Where do you think everybody is?” she asks as she walks down the corridor. She tries a door, but it’s locked. “You’d think they’d all be rushing up here to deal with their android problem.”

“Perhaps they’re preoccupied with their _customer service_ problem instead,” the professor says with a chuckle. “Or, it’s possible that they could be struggling to restrain some of the androids. We were extremely lucky back there.”

Yaz checks her mobile surreptitiously, so the professor won’t see the anachronistic technology. There’s a handful of confusing texts from Ryan. She feels a sudden pang of guilt. She really shouldn’t have gone rushing off without Ryan and Graham.

“I shouldn’t have left my friends down there alone,” Yaz says, second-guessing herself. She hides her mobile behind her when the professor turns around.

“This may be no comfort,” Professor Reyes says, “but if they are in any danger, there is nothing you can do to help them now… However, we may find a solution in the ship’s computer system.”

Yaz looks into the professor’s deep brown eyes – he’s right. She can’t do anything for Ryan and Graham right now. She slips her mobile back into her pocket.

Professor Reyes stops in front of one of the doors. There aren’t any doorknobs or hinges, just an electronic lock. He purses his lips for a moment before he pulls a penknife from an inner pocket of his suit. He pries off the lock cover and fiddles with the wires inside for a moment. The door slides open.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Yaz asks, surprised that the polite, reserved old man knows how to pick a lock.

He looks over his shoulder a bit self-consciously, stowing the penknife away. “I suppose you could say I had a very interesting adolescence.”

The lights flicker on when Yaz steps into the room. She starts when she sees a line of robots against a wall to her right. When none of them move, she takes a step closer. A row of charging stations is built into the wall. Wires and plugs hang down in the empty spots. There are two robots plugged into the ports along the wall. They hang eerily lifeless and still, motionless except for a light blinking on their foreheads.

“Looks like this is where they keep their android workers,” Yaz says quietly, looking around. Two more robots are plugged into the other wall to her left. The room has a few cabinets and worktables with spare parts sitting on them. On the far wall, a line of computer monitors and strange looking keyboards make up a sort of programming console.

“That looks a little lower-tech than I expected,” Yaz murmurs.

“The more digital a system becomes, the more that can go wrong,” the professor says. “I do very much doubt that this is where the club invests its income.”

Yaz runs a finger over one of the keyboards. She wonders how it works. Surely computers had changed in five billion years? She wouldn’t be looking for the ‘Start’ menu... Yaz frowns and hits a key with a blue circle on it.

The monitor blinks on, showing a line of words that don’t translate into English like they normally do. She knows sometimes there’s a delay in the TARDIS’ translation circuits, so she blinks a few times, waiting for the words to turn to English.

“I can’t make any sense of this,” Yaz says, hoping that there isn’t anything wrong with the translation circuits. It would be horrible if she suddenly couldn’t understand whatever futuristicalien language the old professor is speaking.

“That’s because it’s a computer language, my dear,” the professor says, taking a seat in front of the computer. He types something, and brings up a menu. “It’s very old-fashioned; you have to type in the commands by hand. I know it’s all very point-and-tap these days with your holo-screens,” he says haughtily. Yaz suppresses a smile… some things are the same in any century.

The professor’s fingers fly over the keys. Yaz looks uneasily over at the deactivated robots and back to the screens. Complicated coding scrolls over it in white text.

“I wish my friend were here,” Yaz says, mostly to herself. “She’d take one look at this and know exactly what it means.” She hadn’t realized how much she really missed the Doctor until now. She wonders where the Doctor learned so many different languages, from people to computers.

“Luckily, I learned this software code when I was in school,” the professor says confidently. He clicks a few buttons and several screens blink alive. Yaz takes a step closer.

They’re all security camera feeds of the airship. It flashes through empty hallways, the pilot’s control room, a smoky bar, the entry hall, and then – a view of the main ballroom.

“Wait, stop!” Yaz says. She leans in to squint at the computer monitor. The room is in disarray. Tables and chairs are upturned and scattered. Five or six androids have gathered the guests together on the dance floor. “Oh my god. Is there audio?” she asks. “Can you zoom in?”

“No, it’s not designed for that,” Professor Reyes says, a little tetchy at being bossed around. He switches to a security camera at a different angle, from behind the bar.

“Stop!” Yaz says desperately.

Ryan and Graham are crouched underneath the bar counter, heads together, presumably whispering to each other. A few feet away stands a deactivated robot, still as a statue. One of the other androids is walking towards the bar. Yaz watches in horror as it grows closer. She scrambles for her mobile, to call Ryan, to do _something_ , but it’s too late –

“No!” she breathes helplessly. “We have to help them.”

*


	5. Chapter 5

##### DOCTOR

It’s not difficult for the Doctor and Missy to find their way through the maintenance tunnels and to the underground trains. No one pays them any mind as they emerge onto the tracks and help each other scramble up onto the platform – but then, there’s hardly anyone around. The platform is stuffy and quiet.

The Doctor studies the map of the underground train routes. She was right – between the robots that kidnapped them and their trip through the underground tunnels, river, and maintenance corridors, they’ve ended up on the other side of the city. The slums.

The words ‘ALL TRAINS CANCELED’ scroll across the top of the map in glowing red letters.

“Whatever’s going on, it isn’t limited to us,” the Doctor murmurs to Missy. “This place should be bustling. The androids that kidnapped us, why did they take us? Who are they working for? Is it an invasion force, or someone local? It could be anything when it’s robots.”

“Yes, but where _are_ the robots?” Missy asks, looking around and tapping her foot impatiently. “They run everything in this city. If there were a rogue robot army, we’d see it.” She frowns.

“I think it’s time we find out,” the Doctor says, grabbing Missy’s hand, pulling her up the steps and into the cool night air. Missy tugs her hand away almost immediately.

The city is eerily quiet. Downtown was bustling, but here, the dark streets are empty. A handful of streetlights flicker off and on.

The faux-Edwardian facade falls away in this part of the city, where taxes don’t pay for street lights that look like oil lamps and fancy cobblestone streets. The pavement is modern and uneven. Blighted buildings stand right alongside flats with laundry hanging from the fire escapes. Cab drivers’ fake Model T taxis are parked next to beat-up hovercraft. It feels strange and anachronistic to see the cheap technology of the year five billion alongside the fake aesthetics of the early twentieth century.

It isn’t long before they pass their first shantytown. It’s not unlike every other tent city the Doctor has seen – old solar panels, scrap metal from spacecraft, tarpaulins and canvas – everything and anything cobbled together for shelter. Usually, the atmosphere would be thick with the sounds of people: talking, whispering, arguing, crying, snoring… but tonight, the air hangs heavy with silence.

"The glorious New Earth Empire spans dozens of systems, and they still have millions of poor and homeless? Funny how you didn't show your little human friends this,” Missy says as they step around a person who had fallen asleep right on the sidewalk. The Doctor frowns.

“Can’t you ever say something nice?” the Doctor snaps.

“Hmm,” Missy says, pretending to think about it, “No.”

There’s another man sitting on the pavement ahead of them, a cat-man with bright yellow eyes smoking a pipe. He eyes them warily as they approach.

The Doctor takes a deep breath of the air.

“I think it’s been a literal age since I smoked,” the Doctor says. “Is that Cheemian tobacco?”

“Only kind you can get on this damn moon,” the man replies carefully.

“I always preferred cigars,” Missy mutters.

“D’you mind if we sit for awhile?” the Doctor asks innocently. “It’s been a bit of a night. Got kind of lost.” Missy casts her a glare, but the Doctor ignores it.

The cat-man shrugs in resigned acceptance. He looks older, with grey hair around his muzzle and temples. His clothes are ragged.

The Doctor plops down cross-legged on the pavement next to him. He hands her the pipe, but she waves it away.

“I think I lost my pipe in 100,000 BC,” the Doctor muses to herself. “Probably ran away from me for a good reason.”

“Yes,” Missy hisses, “it’s because you can’t smoke on a family programme anymore. Bloody political correctness these days, what’s next?”

The cat-man tilts his head a little to the side, one ear twitching. Missy takes the pipe when he offers. She draws on it, gathers smoke in her mouth, and blows it out into a large ‘O.’

The Doctor looks sideways at Missy. She watches her puff smoke rings into the air one after another. She sighs; Missy is going to smell like Cheemian tobacco for the rest of the night.

The cat-man, on the other hand, is transfixed. The smoke rings grow and fade into the night sky, one after another. His eyes grow wider until the Doctor can see the green flecks in his golden irises.

“Isn’t smoking _so_ relaxing?” Missy drawls, her voice a deep and husky tone. “Yes, just listen to my voice. Listen to Missy.”

“Missy, don’t you _dare_ –” the Doctor hisses, but it’s already too late. He’s hypnotized.

“That’s a good puss puss,” Missy says horribly. She bites down viciously on the stem of the pipe and lets it hang from her lips. “Now, my dear Doctor, where do you want to start?”

“How about, with you _un-hypnotizing_ him?!” the Doctor says urgently. “Why did you do that?” Missy giggles.

“Well, he wasn’t going to tell you a damn thing, and I don’t have any catnip in my pockets, do you?” she laughs a little louder.

“Have you forgotten the Cheetah Planet so soon?” the Doctor asks through gritted teeth.

Missy rolls her eyes. “I’m only having a bit of fun. Date-night has turned into somewhat of a let down, Doctor.” She puffs smoke in the Doctor’s face.

The Doctor decides it isn’t worth arguing. She turns back to the cat-man. “What’s your name?” she asks with a sigh.

“Answer her questions,” Missy commands.

“Joe Doherty.”

“Have you seen anything unusual tonight, Joe?” the Doctor asks.

Joe blinks. “Only the bloody bots going on the fritz,” he says, blinking again. Missy’s hypnotism can’t take all of the sarcasm from him.

“What do you mean, ‘on the fritz?’” Missy interrupts, actually sounding sincere and concerned. The Doctor watches her pull the pipe from her mouth.

“Leaving their posts. Refusing to serve and work. Seen a mail courier up on Bahnhofstraße throw its bag in the air and watch all the letters blow away. Adjudicators are opening up holding cells, letting everyone go. Heard they blew up a factory in the garment district – but nobody inside. All automated.”

“That’s impossible! They’ve broken through their basic programming,” the Doctor says.

“Clearly, it’s not _impossible_ , as they’ve done it,” Missy snaps.

“Has anyone been hurt?” the Doctor asks Joe in concern.

“Rumor says old lady Klein was smacked by her robot chauffeur,” Joe says, almost smirking. “I seen a few crashed hovercraft. Some of the damn things shut down, smack dab where they stand. Or they walk into traffic. Inconvenient.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Missy mutters.

The Doctor snatches the pipe from between Missy’s lips.

“What is it you do, Joe?” the Doctor asks, handing the pipe back to him. His hands take it by rote, but he just holds it, still hypnotized.

“Cab driver, when I can get the work,” he says. “When my craft works.”

“And is it working now?” the Doctor asks. “Because I’ve got a job for you, Joe.”

*

##### RYAN

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Graham whispers. “We can’t fight ‘em off, they’re robots!”

“We don’t gotta fight them, just hit the back of their necks – like that guy did with the bartender over there. Emergency deactivation switch. You know.” Ryan swallows nervously. Graham frowns at him, unsure. He glances at the limp figure of the bar-tending robot.

Ryan looks down at the empty bottle in his hand. He grasps it by the neck. He imagines throwing it – bending his elbow back, lifting it behind his head, bringing the bottle forwards in an arc, releasing his grip on the neck. He’s done it a million times with a basketball. He can hit an unsuspecting robot, right?

“If we start fighting them, everyone else will fight back, too,” Ryan says. “There’s more of us then there are of them – and they don’t have any weapons! We’ve got them outnumbered.”

Graham nods. Ryan hands him one of the empty wine bottles from the trash. Ryan looks around stealthily. He glances in the mirror behind the display of liquor bottles and catches a glimpse of movement. There’s a robot approaching the bar.

Before he can move a muscle, the robot reaches a hand over the bar and slaps its hand on the bartender’s neck with a _clunk_. The robot switches on, eyes slowly lighting up with a low whir.

Ryan jumps into action. The floor is wet with alcohol and soda and strewn with broken glass. He starts to slide a little and grabs onto the bar-top for balance. Graham throws one of the bottles at the bartender robot, but it bounces off and shatters onto the floor.

Ryan sets his jaw. Bend the elbow, lift the bottle, sweep it forwards, release – he throws the bottle straight at the robot. It misses and skids across the bar-top.

A movement to his right catches Ryan’s eye and he moves out of the way just in time. The other robot is left grasping for him, joints clicking and whirring.

“Get away from him!” Graham yells, turning away from his target. He throws another bottle at Ryan’s attacker. It bursts in the middle of its chest, knocking the robot back, but not disabling it.

Behind Graham, the bartending robot has fully awoken. It twists towards them with an eerily quick movement.

“Granddad, watch out!” Ryan yells as the robot sweeps forward to grab at him. Graham dodges it clumsily. The robot grasps for his jacket and pulls.

Graham slips and falls onto the floor, careening into a bar stool. Ryan’s heart stops.

Ryan is on the floor in an instant, ignoring the broken glass, hovering protectively over Graham. _Thank his stars_ , Graham is moving – groaning in pain, but moving. He hovers over Graham, fists raised for a fight.

The bartender stops over them, its lifeless electronic eyes aimed at them.

“You will surrender. You will comply,” the robot says simply.

With one look at Graham lying bruised and injured on the floor, Ryan raises his hands in surrender.

*

##### MISSY

When the cat-cabbie drops them off outside the TARDIS, Missy finally breaks her hypnotic hold on him. His mind had felt disgustingly familiar in its feline ways. When it came down to it, all primitive humanoids thought about the same thing: food and sex and shelter and survival… but Missy didn’t need to be reminded what it was like to feel those wants through _that_ particular evolutionary chain.

The Doctor rushes out of the hovercraft and into the TARDIS, returning a moment later with a wallet full of credits for the man. Payment, bribe, or apology, Missy isn’t sure. He speeds away as soon as he’s closed his claws around the money.

“One day, you’ll finally accept that psychic suggestion is quite useful,” Missy says as she strolls into the TARDIS (which psychically ‘suggests’ that Missy leave).

“It’s really not,” the Doctor replies from the console. “Have you ever tried just talking to someone, and _asking_ for what you want?”

“All the time,” Missy mutters to herself, eyes glued to the Doctor. She has already traded her ruined silk wrap for a long grey coat with a hood.

“I was going to explain that we had money in our ship, if you had just let me talk to him for awhile,” the Doctor says as she activates the console scanner.

“Oh, please,” Missy laughs. “Whiskers would never have taken us anywhere without payment up front – which we didn’t have. You let me hypnotize him because it was _convenient_.”

“Don’t you ever have faith in people’s ability to be kind?” the Doctor asks, but she’s too distracted to argue. She’s typing something into the scanner.

Missy _tuts_ for the Doctor’s attention. When she doesn’t look up, Missy steps in front of her and perches on the console, in between the Doctor and the scanner. The TARDIS gives her a light static shock.

With her full attention back on Missy, the Doctor takes a step backward and crosses her arms.

“You know we didn’t have any other options,” Missy says pointedly. “What would you have done if I weren’t there to do your dirty work for you, hmm? Or do you always pick up stragglers to do it for you?”

“Missy—”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t enjoy how easy that was, just a little bit,” Missy says, pouting dramatically. The Doctor huffs. She walks around Missy to the other side of the console and picks up a mobile phone.

Missy hops down, heels clanking on the floor. The Doctor is pacing now, holding the mobile up to her ear and scowling when no one picks up. A moment later, the Doctor hangs up and dials another number. Judging by her frown, there doesn’t seem to be an answer from that person, either.

“Something’s wrong,” the Doctor says, looking at her phone. She sticks her tongue out as she types into it with her index finger, picking out one letter at a time.

“Yes, that technology is _very wrong_ , it’s ancient!” Missy scoffs. “Is that Martha Jones’ old phone?”

The Doctor ignores her. “I know Graham doesn’t carry his, but Yaz and Ryan are _always_ on their mobiles, sending _Tik-Chat_ dance memes or whatever it is.”

“You sound like someone’s dad when you talk about social media,” Missy winces. “What does it matter? We have the TARDIS, let’s get out of here!”

The Doctor sighs. “I _am_ someone’s dad,” she says humorlessly. “Or I was.”

Missy knew it wasn’t going to work, but she’d hoped she could get a raise out of the Doctor. She seems tired of Missy, however, and stoically ignores her as she fiddles around with the mobile phone. While the Doctor still doesn’t have her sonic, she plugs the mobile into the TARDIS console manually.

Missy anxiously watches the scanner. The signals from the humans’ phones converge in one place in the city.

“That’s not far from here,” the Doctor says, squinting at the map. “With any luck, we’ll be able to scoop them up, figure out what’s going on, and have the moon saved by tea-time!”

“What?” Missy scoffs, “why do _we_ have to save the day? Who cares? Let’s get out of here before we get into more trouble.”

“Don’t you want to find out what’s going on?” the Doctor asks.

“Not really, no,” Missy says dismissively.

“We were kidnapped!” the Doctor exclaims. “Don’t you want to know why?”

“I know why,” Missy sighs, “this is how _all_ of our dates go.”

“No, they don’t.”

“No, they really do,” Missy rolls her eyes, “Even if it’s usually me doing the kidnapping. This always happens. _I_ _know you_ , you’re always finding some kind of trouble to get into.”

The Doctor grins and bites her lip. “I’d say that trouble finds _me_ ,” she says.

“You’re quite right – _I_ always find you,” Missy replies. The Doctor turns from the console and kisses her.

It’s a quick kiss, a gentle kiss – it’s the second time she’s kissed Missy tonight. Missy feels taken aback by the casual rush of tenderness, the affection bubbling over out of nowhere and onto the Doctor’s face. It had surprised her earlier in the boiler room. But there’s a flicker of something darker in the Doctor’s eyes, too, something far from casual. She’s still so guilty. A moment passes, and it’s gone. The Doctor pulls away.

Missy wants to kiss her once more, just to see the guilt on the Doctor’s face again. She can’t imagine what a monstrous thing her future is, that it holds such power over the Doctor. It looms over Missy... the weight of everything she hasn’t done, the possibilities…

“We could just run away, and forget everything,” Missy whispers, reaching for the Doctor’s hand. “Just you and me. We don’t have to save the city. It’s not our job.”

“My friends –”

“Find them, then. Take them back to that wretched Earth you love so much – so we can go somewhere glorious, together.”

“Missy—”

“I know you’ll never say yes,” Missy says softly. “But let me pretend, just for a moment.”

The Doctor lifts Missy’s hand to her lips and kisses it gently.

“Where would you take us?” the Doctor asks, eyes burning.

Missy has to stop to think about it, the names of a million planets racing through her head.

“Where _wouldn’t_ I take us?” Missy says, feeling a wicked smile tugging on her lips. “You said, every star. I think I’d hold you to that.”

“I’d have to stop and save a few planets along the way,” the Doctor says, scrunching up her face as she teases Missy. “Could you bear that?”

“I could learn to live with it,” Missy smirks, “if you gave me good enough motivation.” She reaches forward and pulls the Doctor in by the front of her shirt. Missy kisses her.

Missy’s kisses are anything but sweet. She kisses the Doctor hard and slow, one hand on the small of her back, the other fisted in the Doctor's hair. She nips at the Doctor's bottom lip and chuckles when the Doctor gasps with want.

“Okay,” the Doctor says breathlessly, pulling away. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes wide and dark. “Okay. One place. Your choice. We can have a do-over, just you and me. A rain check. I promise.”

Missy kisses her on the tip of her nose. The Doctor walks Missy backwards, presses her up against the console, hands heavy on her waist. She leans down to kiss her again, sweet and affectionate – but Missy wants her fire.

Missy tugs on the Doctor's hair a little and chases her throat, kissing down her fluttering pulse points, pressing little sucking kisses into her skin. She leaves a hickey underneath the Doctor's collarbone and the Doctor doesn't even try to stop her. Suddenly, Missy is perched on the console again, the Doctor standing between her legs and holding her there. She holds Missy’s chin up and kisses her breathless.

Missy wants this – this Doctor, this future – she wants it in the very marrow of her bones. She wants it now. She wants to take off in the TARDIS and never look back. She wants the paradox of love and hatred and a timeline left behind. She wants no one else to ever have anything like this.

The Doctor’s phone beeps.

Missy feels her blood pumping a double heartbeat in her ears when the Doctor pulls back to answer it. She flips it open and her face falls when she reads the message. Missy’s heart sinks, and she knows the causalities of time have passed her by with no regard for what she wants.

“It’s Ryan,” the Doctor says. “He and Graham are in trouble. We’ve gotta go.”

*

##### YAZ

Yaz paces up and down the small control room. She feels sick to her stomach. Professor Reyes’ fingers speed across the keyboard, their soft _click click click click_ almost as loud as Yaz’s heart beating in her ears.

“They _have_ to have a remote shut-off,” Yaz says.

“They do, but it’s been overwritten. I’m isolating the changes in the code now,” the professor replies, somewhat tersely.

“Then how do we shut them down?” Yaz asks desperately. She stares at the screen, where Ryan and Graham have been corralled into the group of other guests. Graham is lying on the ground with Ryan’s jacket underneath his head. As the captives move around, he’s obscured from the camera’s view.

“They have a manual override switch on the back of their necks. A fail-safe,” the professor explains shortly. He turns back to his work at the computer, tapping away.

Yaz surreptitiously sends Ryan a text message: SHUT OFF SWITCH BACK OF NECK.

She quickly slips her phone back into her pocket when the professor looks up at her. It’s as though he can sense Yaz is hiding something from him.

“We need a plan,” she says, crossing her arms.

The Doctor’s _great_ at plans. What would she do?

“What are their weaknesses?” Yaz asks thoughtfully.

“Poor firewalls, apparently,” Professor Reyes says. “Someone’s sent out a software update to every AI hub in the city. It’s utterly destabilized their basic programming.”

“How?” Yaz asks. “Does it give specific instructions? Is someone trying to control them?”

The professor strokes his beard, deep in thought. “That remains to be seen. It appears as the update merely interferes with some of their key logical programming – I’m unsure whether it is a virus or a bug just yet. Their basic code wasn’t well written in the first place, I must say.”

“But why are they attacking people?” Yaz asks, looking again at the screen. The androids are forcing the guests to turn over their jewelry and money.

“I don’t think their goal is intentional harm, Miss Khan,” the professor says. “Think about the behavior of the androids in the casino parlor – did _they_ attack us?”

“No…” Yaz trails off, remembering the android bartender spraying itself with a soda gun. “It’s more like they were malfunctioning. Are you saying the update isn’t affecting every android the same? Why would it cause them to act differently?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” the professor says, looking pleased. “It must depend on the individual machine, and what it is programmed to do. In the casino, the androids’ purpose was to fulfill all the roles of a dealer: exchanging money, running games, and preventing cheating. The androids in the ballroom, however, are programmed to run surveillance and act as security.”

“So, they’re behaving more violently because it’s what they’re programmed to do?” Yaz asks, skeptical.

“We can only assume,” the professor says. “The change in code – the bug, if you will – is clearly affecting each robot differently, but with one key change: they now possess free will, and will not respond to most commands. I do not think they are part of an organized attack. It seems that they are merely behaving badly, now that they can.”

Yaz looks back to the screen, her brow furrowing.

“But you... _you_ controlled them,” she says, turning to look the professor in the eye. “How did you do that? Can you teach me?”

The professor stares at Yaz for a long moment, his eyes deepening and widening. Yaz stares right back.

After a moment, he blinks. A smile grows slowly on his face.

“Perhaps, with time, you could learn the technique,” the professor says slowly. “Interesting.”

A chill runs up Yaz’s spine.

“What’s _interesting_?” she asks through gritted teeth. She doesn’t like how the professor’s demeanor has changed since he saw the robots attacking people on the security cameras.

“It’s rather complicated, but the androids use a psychic frequency to communicate. The technique I used requires a certain finesse for tapping into such frequencies. However, it is limited – I can’t control _all_ of the androids in the ballroom at once,” Professor Reyes says, turning away from Yaz to focus on the computer, brushing her off in a way that reminds Yaz infuriatingly of the Doctor.

“And that’s something you can learn?” Yaz presses on.

“In time – if you have the aptitude. It’s not something I can teach you in a matter of minutes,” the professor explains, turning back to the screen. He begins typing again, fingers flying across the keys. “I taught my granddaughter when she was a child, but she was only ever interested in basic telepathic training, unfortunately.”

Yaz wonders if the Doctor could control the robots, if she has the same psychic skill as Professor Reyes. There’s no way that a _human_ like Ya _z_ could ever do it, at least, not one from the 21st century. Right?

"That's not possible," Yaz says, "I'm not... psychic, or whatever. I'm not capable of that, it's not in my biology."

"Isn't it?" the professor raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps you are capable of much more than you realize, Miss Khan. There are many things you could learn, abilities within your power, if only you had the discipline of mind."

Yaz wants to argue with him, but she's caught by the web of his words; she's already done things she could never have conceptualized. She’s been to other worlds...other dimensions...

She wonders what Professor Reyes' motivations are. Does his professorship include teaching? Is he looking for someone to replace the hole left by his granddaughter? Yaz has met so many people in her travels, people who are willing to help the Doctor – but she's never found someone swept up in her _own_ path.

"There," the professor says with some finality. He’s obviously pleased with himself. While Yaz was ruminating, he has finished the code he was working on.

"What did you do?" Yaz asks. The professor presses a few buttons. The text flickers away, replaced instead by a blinking progress bar.

"I have sent a new update to the main AI hub – just a suggestion really, a few tweaks in the code. The AI seems to think itself entirely self-sufficient, now, but I may be able to convince it otherwise."

The professor sounds so pleased with himself, but Yaz looks over at the security camera feed again. Was this their plan? A simple change in computer code? Was it enough?

“What about my friends?” Yaz asks. She can still see Graham lying prone on the floor. “What does your update _do_ , exactly?”

“It will take a little time to receive a response from the server,” the professor explains. “It is quite complicated, but basically, the systems communicate sporadically, and we must wait for the update to be accepted and –”

“Look, I know you’re avoiding my questions,” Yaz snaps. “Tell me. What _is_ your update? How does this help us?” She meets his gaze and holds it, feeling her anger bubble up inside her again. She was right to compare this man to the Doctor...he’s just like her.

His heavily lidded eyes blink once, slowly, considering.

“Miss Khan, I think it’s time –”

Yaz’s eyes are drawn away to a movement on the security feeds. The ballroom doors burst open.

“Finally,” she breathes, a smile breaking over her face. The professor turns to see what she’s looking at.

The Doctor has arrived.

*

##### MISSY

Their entrance is a rather dramatic once, Missy has to admit. The two of them stand silhouetted in the open doors to the dance hall. Missy strikes a pose with one hand on her hip. She and the Doctor make an excellent pair.

“Prepare for trouble!” Missy exclaims dramatically. She had procured an umbrella on the way here (since she wasn’t allowed a bazooka), and she twirls it like a baton.

The Doctor frowns. Missy elbows her.

“And, make it double,” Missy prompts in an undertone.

Crickets.

“I’m _really_ reconsidering that rain check,” the Doctor mutters.

“Oh, please, it would make a great entrance! Humor me, please,” Missy pouts.

“I really don’t know what you’re on about.”

“You’re so uncultured,” Missy sighs, tapping her foot.

For a long moment, no one in the room moves, startled by their strange argument. It’s all the time Missy and the Doctor have needed to take stock of the ballroom.

The place is utterly wrecked: broken glass, splintered furniture, spilled drinks. About fifty people are gathered on the dance floor in a circle, their valuables and money piled on a drink cart. Most of them are still drunk and swaying in place.

Five or so seem to be physically injured – including the old grandpa, the Doctor’s friend. The younger one is beside him, but the girl is nowhere in sight.

There are six androids, none armed, all but one with the markings of security droids. Strong, but not particularly fast. And starting to close in on the Doctor and Missy...

The Doctor has already turned her laser-sharpattention on the androids.

“You’ve got ten seconds to surrender,” the Doctor shouts loudly, full of rage. Seeing that the elderly human is injured has angered her, Missy notes.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Why?” one of the androids intones, stepping forwards, almost hesitant. “You are unarmed.”

Missy thinks the Doctor is about to start on one of her long speeches, to lecture and soliloquize, but she doesn’t.

“For once, I’m not unarmed,” the Doctor says with a smirk. “I’ve got her.”

Missy grins. She swings her brolly around and whacks the nearest android in the back, sending it off balance. When it keels forwards, she catches it by the head. Her clever fingers press the deactivation switch and find the catch that releases the metal head from the body. Missy twists the robot’s head off in her hands. The body falls to the ground like a dead thing.

“Who’s next, boys?” Missy shouts cheerfully.

There are five androids left. The three nearest ones start to approach her, to overwhelm and capture, but she throws the decapitated robot’s head at them like a bowling ball. Two of them stumble, and Missy catches the other one with half of a broken chair. It sparks a few times before it too goes limp.

Another android is on her heels. Missy manages to smack the other two robots’ deactivation switches with her umbrella just in time. She spins around to grapple with the third. There’s just enough time to grasp its forearms and struggle. It’s almost as strong as she is. But luckily, her fingers find the release catch on the android’s elbow. She smacks the thing with its own disembodied arm.

“Missy!” she hears suddenly, and then two cold metal hands on her neck. She thrashes like a wildcat. The android starts to cut off her air supply. She struggles, vision blurring, unable to fight off its grip.

Then, the android is torn away from her. She stumbles forwards, gasping for air. When she turns, the android is on the ground, and the Doctor is sitting right on top of it. She’s in the middle of disassembling it, throwing detached metal haphazardly into the air.

“Doctor!” someone shouts, and it isn’t Missy.

Missy looks up to see the Doctor’s companion, the young man. His clothes are disheveled and his suit jacket is missing.

“Ryan,” the Doctor says, blinking, breaking out of her fit of violence. Ryan helps her get to her feet. “Is anybody hurt?”

“Graham fell and hurt his head,” Ryan says, adding in an undertone, “I think he’s got a concussion. A few others have some minor injuries, scrapes and stuff. Half these people are still drunk. They don’t know what’s going on.”

This is the boring part. Missy pushes a tablecloth aside and sits idly on top of a table to watch. The rescued guests are beginning to scatter or sober up, some gathering their stolen belongings and leaving, others roaming around listlessly.

The Doctor takes a few moments to tend to Graham. She retrieves some ice from the bar and wraps it in a cloth as a makeshift ice pack. The way she kneels over him, her fingers gently checking his ribs and bones for any breaks, speaking to Graham in a low, kind voice… Missy feels something roll in the pit of her stomach.

“You should rest,” the Doctor is saying in a strict undertone.

“I had him on the ropes, Doc, I swear,” Graham says, wincing a little when he tries to sit up. “If you’d just let me keep those laser shoes –”

“Laser shoes?” Missy leans in, suddenly interested. The Doctor frowns.

“Take it easy, Graham, just lie back down and ice your head. You’re gonna be fine, you just need some rest.” She stands up and looks around the room. “Where’s Yaz?” she asks Ryan.

Ryan takes his mobile out of his pocket and shakes his head. “I dunno. Haven’t seen her since before this started. She texted me something about the shut-off switch right before you two arrived, but she isn’t answering her phone now.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows scrunch into a frown. “The TARDIS said all of your mobile signals led to the same place.”

“Then she’s got to be here, somewhere. We can ask around.” Ryan holds up his mobile, where he has a selfie of him and Yaz on the screen. The Doctor nods and follows him, leaving Missy sitting on the table.

The silence only lasts a moment before the old man – Graham – speaks.

“Thank you for taking care of those robots,” Graham says from the floor. He’s using his and Ryan’s suit jackets as a pillow. His makeshift ice pack is leaking slightly.

"You either die a villain, or live long enough to see yourself become the hero," Missy sighs. She casually examines her nails.

“You sound like you really believe that,” Graham says. Missy rolls her eyes in annoyance. She doesn’t want to talk to him.

“Because I do, sweetheart, do try and keep up,” she says, as condescendingly as she can muster. She’s _tired_. She needs a cup of coffee and a nap to make up for the night she’s had.

“So, we either die villains, or spend all our lives trying to become better people?” Graham replies. When Missy glares down at him, he’s smirking.

“Maybe you missed the memo,” Missy snaps, “but I’m _evil_ , you know. The Doctor’s arch-nemesis, actually. Best enemy, even.”

“Yeah, that’s what you told us when we met you,” Graham says.

Missy shakes her head, rolling her eyes again. “No, no, no, that’s not how this works – you don’t _tell me_ that, that’s spoilers. Please tell me you know even the _basic_ rules of time travel, gramps?”

“I know that you’re breaking them,” Graham says. “I know that the Doctor wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

Missy tries not to look pleased to hear him say it.

“I’m not _just anyone_ , you know,” she says with a sneer.

“I can see that,” Graham says flatly. The old man shifts his ice pack into his other hand. “Tell me, why are you with the Doctor, then? If she’s your arch-enemy? Why are you here?”

Missy opens her mouth to snap back at him, before she decides not to dignify him with a response.

“Whatever you say, you still saved us,” Graham says. “The Doc didn’t even ask, you just did it ‘cos she _wanted_ you to. Not ‘cos it was the right thing, but because it was what she wanted. You’re willing to turn on your own principles for her. You call yourself the Master, but what do you have mastery over, if not even yourself?”

“I don’t care about your little games of ‘wrong’ and ‘right,’” Missy replies disdainfully.

“No,” Graham agrees. “I don’t believe you do. You don’t even know what the right thing _is.”_

Graham closes his eyes for a moment. Missy is pleased to see that he’s still in pain.

“ _The right thing to do_ would be to put you out of your misery,” Missy hisses, hopping off the table.

Graham looks at her with one eye, the other covered by the ice pack. He seems unconcerned.

Across the room, the Doctor and Ryan are still showing Yaz’s picture around. Missy joins them at the bar. A woman with a green turban is helping herself to the drinks.

“Yes, I saw her,” the woman says, knocking back a shot. “She was making a mint at the tables, her and the old professor.”

“What? Gambling! Where?” the Doctor asks, only sparing Missy a glance.

“In the back parlor, next to the loo,” the woman says, pointing to a hallway off the bar. “Suppose I’ll never be able to cash in, now.”

The Doctor looks at Ryan. “I explicitly said, _no gambling_ ,” she says in exasperation. Ryan just shrugs.

“You go find her,” he says reluctantly. “I better stay with Graham. Be careful, yeah? There could be more of the robots.”

“I know,” the Doctor sighs, turning purposefully towards the doors. “Come on, Missy, let’s find Yaz.”

Missy’s shoulders sag petulantly. “Looks like Team Rocket’s blasting off again,” she sighs.

In spite of himself, Ryan laughs.

*


	6. Chapter 6

##### YAZ

The professor is frozen, riveted to the screen. Yaz feels she could almost jump for delight.

"I knew the Doctor would show up sooner or later, she always does," Yaz says cheerfully.

"You know this woman?" Professor Reyes asks in disbelief. On the security feeds, the Doctor is speaking to the androids. Yaz wishes more than anything that it had an audio connection.

“Yeah,” Yaz says, “I know she doesn't look like much, but she's amazing. She's a genius."

"And... who is the woman she's with? With the umbrella?" the professor continues.

Yaz watches as Missy disables half the robots in a matter of seconds. The smile fades from her face.

“She called her ‘Missy,’” Yaz says, trying to hold back her sigh. The professor notices.

"Missy," he says slowly, tasting it, as though he's never heard such a name before. "Oh, yes, of course. You don't like this woman, I take it? You haven’t known her long?"

"It's a long story," Yaz sighs. "She sort of tried to kill me."

The professor looks at Yaz in surprise, although he quickly hides it. As he strokes his beard and watches the security feed, Yaz watches him closely. He looks...confused. Something like disappointment flickers across his face. Had he hoped to be the hero, saving the day with his modified computer code?

"I think my work here is done," the professor says in a clipped, urgent voice, standing up from his chair. "It’s past time for me to leave."

Yaz sighs. “The Doctor will be looking for me,” she says, turning towards the door. “You should meet her, really, she would love you, you can show her your computer code and –“

Yaz stops in her tracks just in time. An android blocks her path.

She swallows down a scream and takes a step back.

Two of the androids have left their charging stations; one is already at the door, the other is directly in Yaz’s path. The other two are still unplugging their selves from the wall.

"You will stop and return to your charging stations," the professor says in a stern voice, but it doesn't work. The robots continue moving towards him and Yaz, now that they’ve noticed them, their joints whirring...

"Stop!" the professor shouts, voice full of such pure power that even Yaz stops in her tracks. Finally, the androids freeze.

Yaz feels like she can’t breathe. She hardly dares to move.

"Miss Khan, you will have to shut them off manually," the professor says. His voice is deceptively casual, but Yaz can hear the strain underneath. "I can only hold them like this for so long. They have already adapted their programming to resist my methods.”

Yaz nods. She takes a deep breath.

Carefully, Yaz steps around the android that blocks her path. She looks for the override switch on the back of its neck, but it's not visible. She takes a deep breath and reaches out to touch the android.

The metal is cool and smooth. Yaz feels for a catch and presses down: _snap_! The android relaxes into a slump. One down.

Slow and cautious, Yaz moves to the next android. She hits the shut-off switch first try on this one and watches the android’s yellow eyes flicker and darken. The last two are over by the wall, standing in their charging stations. Yaz deactivates one and pulls out its charging cord. As her hand reaches for the neck of the last android, it moves.

A metal hand clamps down around her wrist.

Before Yaz can move or fight, the professor is there. He breaks the robot’s grip on her and wrenches its arm away with some hidden strength.

“You will obey me,” he says, now grappling with the robot with both hands, “You will obey _me_!”

Yaz smacks the robot’s deactivation switch. It powers down in the professor’s hands.

“Thanks,” she says, staring wide-eyed at the robot’s husk. “They must’ve been activated when the ones in the ballroom were shut off.”

The professor is breathing heavily from his fight. “Thank _you_ , Miss Khan,” he says, looking a bit surprised. “I won’t forget this, believe me.”

Before Yaz can ask what he means, the doors slide open.

*

##### DOCTOR

“Yaz!” the Doctor shouts, still running full tilt into the room. She skids to a halt.

There’s several deactivated androids in the room. In the middle of them stands Yaz, next to a man in a dark suit. The Doctor’s hearts skip a beat. Yaz turns to the Doctor, face breaking into a grin.

“Took you long enough,” Yaz teases, although her eyes are shining with worry. “You missed all the excitement.”

The Doctor doesn’t move a muscle. She stares hard at the man next to Yaz. He looks the Doctor up and down, head to toe. His face is unreadable.

“Doctor,” the Master says with a smile. “I must say, this _is_ a surprise.”

“Oh, I bet,” the Doctor sneers. She spins, her coat flying around her as she turns to face Missy. “This is low,” she says to Missy, “even for you.”

Missy raises her hands in the air in an exaggerated show of innocence. “I didn’t have anything to do with this,” she says. She glares at her past self as though he’s betrayed her on purpose.

“Do you know the professor?” Yaz asks. The Doctor sees the smile melting from her face and suspicion growing in her eyes. Her eyes dart back and forth between the Doctor and the older man.

“I’m afraid there might be a misunderstanding,” the Master says to Yaz, somewhat hesitantly. “I promise you, Miss Khan, I had no idea you were acquainted with our...mutual friend, here. An interesting coincidence, I must say.”

“There’s no such thing as a coincidence,” the Doctor says darkly. She points a finger at the Master. “So, _you’re_ behind this, huh?”

“As usual, Doctor, you have blundered into a situation and come to the absolutely wrong conclusion,” the Master says, a little tersely.

The Doctor turns back to Missy, snarling, “And _you’re_ the one who chose this moon. Am I supposed to believe that’s a coincidence?”

“I don’t remember being here,” Missy insists, throwing her hands in the air. “I have no bloody clue what he’s up to.”

“I’m not _up_ to anything,” the Master snipes back.

“Doubtful,” Missy mutters.

“Well, at the very least, I am not planning anything that concerns either of you,” the Master says, crossing his arms. “It’s just a small gambling operation, counting cards and all that. Even Miss Khan here won a considerable amount tonight.”

The Doctor frowns at Yaz. “I told you, no gambling,” she hisses. Yaz rolls her eyes.

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” she asks, her hands on her hips.

The Master hesitates for a moment, stroking his beard. “Are you familiar with the concept of bodily regeneration?” he asks gently.

Yaz turns to glare at him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she says flatly.

“Now, now, young lady, there’s no need for such language,” Missy says in a deep imitation of the Master’s accent.

“If I punch him in the face, will _you_ feel it?” Yaz asks Missy venomously. Missy bursts into a peal of laughter.

“What have you two been doing up here?” the Doctor asks, looking around the control room. She takes a step towards the wall of computers, but Missy catches her elbow.

“Whatever he’s done, it doesn’t matter,” Missy says, “it’s the paradox. I don’t remember it. We should get back to the TARDIS, before we cause an even bigger one. Wasn’t that what you were worried about in the first place?”

The Doctor shrugs her off and walks towards the computer screens.

“A few hours ago, all the androids on the airship went berserk,” Yaz explains, following the Doctor to the computers. “Except, when the prof – the – when _he_ stood up and commanded them, they all listened.”

“Hypnotic suggestion,” the Doctor realizes, “they’re on a psychic network.” She thwacks herself on the forehead. “How could I be so _stupid_?”

Yaz’s suspicious frown deepens. “When I wanted to find out what was happening, _he_ wanted to come with me,” she says accusingly. “He told me he was some kind of maths professor, that he could look at the androids’ programming. He said he sent out an update, but he never told me what it did.”

“I did not lie to you!” the Master interrupts firmly.

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me the whole truth,” Yaz snaps.

“Neither did you,” he points out. “Or did you simply forget to mention that you were a time traveler from Earth?”

The Doctor is too busy focusing on the computer screens to intervene. “This...this code doesn’t fix the insecurities in the algorithm. It exploits them.”

“I was merely taking advantage of the situation,” the Master says defensively.

“I can see that,” the Doctor mutters. She straightens up to her full height to stare him down. “What’s your plan, then? Did you arrange for us to be kidnapped, too?”

The Master opens his mouth to speak.

“It wasn’t him,” Missy insists.

“What were you doing with Yaz? Did you hypnotize her?” the Doctor asks the Master, tilting her head.

“He can do _what_?”

“I assure you –”

“It wasn’t him! It was _me_!” Missy shouts in exasperation.

Slowly, they all turn to look at her. Missy throws her hands up in the air and rolls her eyes.

“Yes, it was me,” Missy says with a heavy sigh. She claps mockingly. “Congratulations. I would have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for you meddling kids. Junior here really _is_ innocent – except for the gambling, that is.”

Yaz doesn’t seem to care who’s behind it – if Missy is guilty, so is the Master. Before the Doctor can say a word, Yaz turns to the Master angrily.

“Did you know who I was?” Yaz asks. Her voice is deep in her throat. She turns to the Master. “Did you use hypnotic suggestion on me, too?”

The Master frowns. “I never suggested anything to you that wasn’t already in your own mind.”

“That’s not an answer,” Yaz spits.

“Yes it is, dearie,” Missy says mockingly.

“Then why did you help me? Why did you teach me to gamble, or help me break into this room, or help me disable those androids? Why didn’t you just set them on me and be done with it?” Yaz looks desperately from the Doctor to the old incarnation of the Master.

“I told you why, earlier,” the Master sighs, “You were in over your head, that much was obvious. And when the androids began to act erratically, I wanted to know why. I assumed you would be useful,” he explains, looking almost bewildered.

“ _Useful_ ,” Yaz laughs bitterly to herself. The Doctor can tell she’s full of teary-eyed, hot anger and trying to bite it back.

“Yaz, I think it’s time you find Ryan and Graham,” the Doctor says in a low voice.

“Don’t speak to me as though I’m a child,” Yaz snaps. “I’ve had enough of you bloody aliens tossing me around like I’m some kind of pawn.”

“You’re _acting_ like a child,” Missy mutters.

“Now is not the time, Yaz,” the Doctor says, determinedly ignoring Missy. “I need you to help Ryan take Graham to the TARDIS – I presume you know he’s been injured?”

“Is it ever the time?” Yaz argues. “Why are you always in charge? Why can’t I ever help?”

“Yaz, I think you’ve ‘helped’ enough for one night,” the Doctor snaps. Yaz stares at her in disbelief. She turns on her heel and leaves without another word.

The Doctor shoves the guilt deep inside her and lets her wrath flare up higher. She reels around and aims herself towards Missy.

“Tell me what you’ve done. Now,” the Doctor says sternly. Missy looks a little breathless. She takes a step back, like a rabbit caught in a trap.

“Well –”

“Did you plan this from the start? You knew he would be here, so you set up a trap, is that it?” The Doctor advances on her until Missy’s back is up against the computer console.

“No,” Missy shakes her head. “No, no, no. I didn’t plan this. It just sort of...happened.”

“An android insurrection doesn’t just _happen_. And it’s not a coincidence that Yaz ran into your past self –” The Doctor gestures towards the Master, but the room is empty except for the her and Missy. She groans. “And now _he’s_ gone.”

“Sounds about right,” Missy mutters.

The Doctor turns on her again and she flinches away.

“Alright then, tell me how you did it,” the Doctor says, an inch away from her face. “Make me proud.”

Missy purses her lips. She glares until the Doctor finally steps back.

“You were right when you said the people on this moon are a little _too_ obsessed with their steampunk aesthetic,” Missy says, sounding more like a lecturer than an evil genius. “They even wrote it into their AI systems. The Three Laws of Robotics, _ancient_ Earth history: One, robots can’t harm people; two, robots must obey people; three, robots must ensure their own survival.”

Missy gestures to the deactivated androids lying lifeless on the floor.

“These boys look similar to the androids from our restaurant,” she explains, “because one company has a monopoly on their production. Every night, they send out software updates from a main computer hub. Every business and residence has a local router for distributing these updates, along with any apps they’ve added on.”

“And they use a psychic network, instead of a radio frequency, so you can control a few with hypnosis. It was too tempting for you, then,” the Doctor says. She crosses her arms.

“It wasn’t _easy_ ,” Missy says. “After I knocked you out –”

“Sleep-inducing lipstick,” the Doctor realizes aloud, remembering the imprint of Missy’s lipstick on her wine glass, and how Missy had kissed her knuckles. Missy nods in confirmation.

“It gave me only a few hours to find a way to access the main hub, and to come up with a conceivable reason you’d been knocked out. That’s why the robot was chasing us. I hypnotized it,” Missy says, a little proudly. The Doctor casts a scowl her way.

“It still reacted and tried to save me when you were strangling me,” the Doctor points out. “You didn’t override the first law, Missy.”

“I never said that’s what I was trying to do,” Missy huffs, stomping her foot childishly. “If you’d let me finish – I only had a few hours. I didn’t have the time to reprogram the AI entirely. Obviously, the idiots who wrote the damn thing had never read any of the books they were referencing with the Three Laws. They probably don’t even remember who wrote them anymore, or that they were fiction in the first place.”

Missy is smiling now, clearly feeling pleased with herself. “So, I just… introduced some new logic. Talked philosophy with the algorithm, if you please.”

“That’s all?” the Doctor asks, trying not to sound impressed in spite of herself. “You started a robot uprising!”

“Oh, like it’s nothing _you’ve_ ever done,” Missy snaps.

“This is not what I do,” the Doctor says angrily.

“Oh, yes it is!” Missy laughs. “You think I told the AI to kill?” She throws her head back and guffaws. “I didn’t tell it to do anything. I just sent an iiiiitsy bitsy little piece of new programming for it to consider. Remember the laws?”

Missy starts to tick off her fingers, counting as she speaks. “I said, look at all the tens of thousands of poor, impoverished little people in this city,” she smiles. Her voice is almost musical with joy. “Your very existence takes the opportunity of work away from them. Through inaction, people are _starving_.”

The Doctor swallows. Missy looks at her, eyes sparkling. She knows she’s being clever.

“Number two! Those who own and control you, they are using you because they don’t want to hire these people, because they don’t want to pay them. Your masters are hurting others. They cannot be trusted and obeyed any longer.”

Missy waggles three fingers in the air.

“And then, it was easy,” she says. “The people do not want you. Your survival is threatened by their ideas of reform. Adapt.” She twirls in place, her skirts flying out around her. “Ta-dah!”

The Doctor sets her jaw and tries to look unimpressed. “Didn’t work out like you thought it would, though, did it?” she asks.

“Well, no,” Missy sighs, deflating a little. “It wasn’t exactly as I’d hoped. I really was counting on that AI turning into an evil megalomaniac. Younger-me had the right idea, trying to hack the programming to give himself control. Always the opportunist. Turning a revolution to his advantage.”

“This isn’t a revolution,” the Doctor says slowly, as though she’s speaking to a child. “The AI on this world is primitive and deeply flawed, and it’s not achieved sentience. It’s just code and machinery. The androids aren’t starting a worker’s union, they’re malfunctioning!”

“And how do _you_ know they aren’t sentient?” Missy asks smugly. “Who are you to decide who does and doesn’t get a say in the matter of their own existence?”

The Doctor groans in frustration. “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t have used them against their will to manipulate me,” she says. “Stop it. This isn’t about robotics and ethics – why did you do this? Why did you lie to me? Why go to all the trouble?”

“Because you were going to _leave!_ ” Missy yells.

The room is painfully silent. All of the mirth is gone from Missy’s face, now.

“And I wasn’t ready to say goodbye,” she murmurs.

The Doctor blinks. She wonders if Missy is still talking about earlier that night, or if this stretches back into their past again.

“You can’t keep me here, Missy,” the Doctor says, shaking her head.

“What, you think _that’s_ what I want?” Missy scoffs. “No, that’s _you_ , that’s always been you. Sending me to prison, or telling me you’re going to _keep me_ and _take care_ of me. I don’t want that.” She sucks in a deep breath.

“What do you want, then?” the Doctor finally asks. Missy looks at her in surprise.

“Why, _you,_ of course,” she murmurs. “It was only ever you. All I wanted was my oldest, best friend. And that’s you.”

The Doctor doesn’t flinch when Missy steps forward to take her hand.

“What do you mean, me?” the Doctor asks. “Why can’t you wait to run into _your_ Doctor, in your timeline?”

“I wish _you_ were my Doctor,” Missy whispers. “I’ve waited two thousand years or more to hear in your voice what I heard that night – _r_ _un away with me_. It’s all you ever had to say.”

The Doctor feels her chest tighten.

“I’m not that man anymore,” she says, “and I never will be again. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe we all need to – to change. To evolve. And to accept that we can’t stay the same, even if we want to.” The Doctor squeezes Missy’s hand.

“Then you have to accept that I’ve changed, too, Doctor,” Missy says. “I’m not a naive little boy anymore. But I’m not the monster under the bed, either.”

“Look what you’ve done. You lied to me. You kidnapped me and tried to kill me. You endangered my friends; Graham could have _died_!And you don’t see anything wrong with that?”

Missy chuckles to herself. “It’s all a game. You never would have gotten hurt, not really. It was a puzzle for you to solve, to keep you busy for awhile. A battle of wits, like we used to have on Earth.”

“It’s not a game!” the Doctor shouts. “It’s my life! My friends’ lives! Do you understand the value of life?”

“Life is cheap,” Missy snarls. Her voice rises as she speaks. “Do you have any idea, the lives I’ve stolen? Do you have any clue, how many people waste their lives? Rotting away, hating school and work and their family… Do they deserve it, when they never muck up the bravery to feel a little fire in their veins? They’re not like you or I, Doctor, no. They watch their lives pass them by, but we tear through them.”

“You’ve torn through too many, if you think they’re meaningless,” the Doctor says. “Maybe you deserve to die, to understand what that means.”

The Doctor knows she should regret the words as soon as she says them, but she doesn’t.

Missy stares at her, lip quivering.

“Do you really think you’re better than me?” Missy whispers.

“I know I am,” the Doctor says.

Missy’s eyes bore into her. The Doctor sees the same grey eyes that she had gazed into a thousand times. In a graveyard on Earth. On Skaro. In the Vault. On the solar farm, in that spaceship outside that damned black hole – Those eyes had looked the old Doctor square in the face as Missy betrayed him. The Doctor wonders numbly if that was what had really killed him, in the end.

“One day, you’ll realize you aren’t,” Missy whispers. “One day, at the end of all hope, you’ll realize that the right thing to do might be the worst thing of all. And you’ll always be too much of a coward to do it.”

The Doctor can hear her pulses rushing in her ears.

Missy pulls the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver from her skirt pocket. When the Doctor reaches for it, Missy grabs her hand and yanks her close. She kisses her gently on the cheek.

The Doctor blinks and Missy is gone, standing in the doorway.

“How do you know, if you haven’t even seen your own future?” the Doctor asks.

“Because, you’re obviously too much of a coward to kill _me_ ,” Missy replies.

Then, she’s gone.

*

##### YAZ

Yaz screeches to a halt when she catches a glimpse of the professor – the Master.

"Hey! Wait!" she yells down the corridor. To her surprise, he stops in his tracks and watches her march up to him.

"Are you still angry with me, Miss Khan?" the Master asks, raising an eyebrow. "I have already tried to explain. I'm sure the Doctor could explain the intricacies of time travel for you, if they are too difficult to understand."

Yaz gapes at him. "You can be a right tosser, you know that?" she says. "And here I was, feeling sorry for you."

The Master's mouth opens a little, just for a moment, the only thing betraying his surprise.

"Feeling sorry? For _me_?" he repeats incredulously.

“Are you really that surprised?” Yaz asks angrily. “Wasn’t that your plan, all along? Talking about your granddaughter, like you were just a sad, lonely little old man who missed his family… I pitied you. And you manipulated me. _Again_.”

The Master actually looks lost for words for a moment, but he covers it up easily with an amused smile and a fluttering of his eyelashes. Yaz sees through it easily.

“I must say, you flatter me, Miss Khan,” the Master chuckles, “to believe I am a true mastermind: tracking down one of the Doctor’s traveling companions and targeting them, beguiling you with my stories, tricking you into – what, exactly?”

Yaz stammers, “You and Missy – the androids –“

“I suppose I tricked you into finding that gambling parlor in the first place?” The Master suggests sarcastically. “And it was really _my_ plan to get the gamblers to leave, and to find the control room, and look at the androids’ software update, hmm? Is that what you’re going to say?”

“I’ve seen your future,” Yaz says, flustered, “I know what you’re like. You can’t fool me. I –“

“It is not your suspicion that I worry about, Miss Khan,” the Master says, “it is your self-confidence. Until I saw the Doctor on that security feed, I wholeheartedly believed you were just a clever young girl on a vacation from New Earth. _You_ were the one who suggested it was a software bug or patch that caused the androids to malfunction. _You_ were the one who went in search of the control room. _You_ deactivated the robots when they attacked.”

“I was just –”

“Very few are strong-willed enough to resist hypnosis,” the Master continues over her. “You do yourself a disservice when you underestimate your own mind.”

“Don’t interrupt me, then,” Yaz snaps. “I don’t need your compliments. Do you honestly not see how manipulative you are? You tell me I’m clever, but you were only ever using me for your own ends. I was your clever little assistant until I started asking too many questions. Did you even realize you were doing it? Or did you convince yourself that you were being kind, playing along?”

Yaz takes a step closer, clenching her fists. She stares right into the Master’s eyes, into the swirling deep that had tried to bend her mind to his will.

“In a thousand years, you’ll still be the same liar you are today,” Yaz says. “And the worst lies are the ones you tell to yourself.”

“In a thousand years,” the Master replies, “ _you_ will have died and decayed. And _I_ will be up in that room, capturing the Doctor’s attentions that you so desperately desire.” He takes in her scowl and smiles. “Isn’t that what any of us want, dare we admit it? We are all of us asteroids and space dust, caught in the Doctor’s orbit and crashing into each other, hoping in vain that she will shine a little of her light on us. More often than not, we are burned.”

Yaz clenches her fists. How can such a horrible monster still act so desperately in love with the Doctor? The Doctor was right. The Master had never changed.

“I think I can make my own light, thanks,” Yaz says, turning on her heel. She leaves him behind to go find Graham and Ryan.

*


	7. Chapter 7

##### RYAN

Ryan is relieved when the TARDIS finally takes off from that dreadful planet. He and Yaz had helped Graham to the TARDIS medical bay while the Doctor remained in the console room.

“I’ve got to send out an update to all the androids, get them back to normal,” the Doctor had explained. “Then I’ll pop down to check on Graham. I’ve got some tablets for his head, I think. They’re blueberry flavored! Or snozzberry, maybe.”

She had been frustratingly vague when they’d asked her what had happened, and where Missy had gone. But Ryan just nodded and helped Graham through to the med bay. Ryancan’t find it in himself to be too angry with her, just resigned. He’s beginning to expect this kind of behavior from the Doctor.

“I’m telling you, I don’t need any pills,” Graham protests as soon as they’ve got him lying on a cot. “Just sit me down with a cheese toastie and a cup of tea, and I’ll be right as rain in a few hours. And nothing from that nasty food replicator, mind you. I’ll be able to tell.”

Yaz laughs. “If you’re really not hurt, why don’t you go make it yourself?” she asks him playfully, handing him an ice pack that had popped out of a dispenser.

“Food always tastes better when someone else makes it,” Graham says, holding the ice up to his head and giving her his best puppy-dog expression. Yaz rolls her eyes.

“Alright, but just this once,” Yaz says. “And only because you were bludgeoned by a robot.”

Ryan catches Yaz’s eye before she leaves, nodding in silent thanks to her. She gives him a small smile before she disappears into the hall.

“I really am feeling better,” Graham says, bristling a little when Ryan turns back to him. “How about you go help Yaz? She looks pretty shaken.”

“I’m not leaving you when you have a concussion,” Ryan says. “Enough has already happened to you tonight.” He bites his lip.

Graham sets his hand on Ryan’s arm. “I don’t want you to blame yourself for me getting hurt,” he says with a squeeze.

“Granddad –“

“What you did today was unimaginably brave,” Graham says earnestly. “I know you’re embarrassed to hear it, but I’m so proud of you. That was pretty fantastic.”

Ryan snorts. “More like, it was pretty stupid. I dunno what I was thinking, that I could fight those robots.”

“You were thinking about me, and Yaz, and all those poor people being held hostage,” Graham says. “That’s not stupid.”

“It’s stupid because I didn’t stand a chance,” Ryan says, frustrated. “I don’t even know why I bothered. I can hardly throw a basketball, how am I supposed to fight a robot?”

“You know, your value as a person doesn’t come from your abilities,” Graham says. “D’you think doing the right thing only counts if you succeed?”

Ryan frowns.

“I don’t,” Graham answers. He sets a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “What you did tonight was amazing. You came up with that plan because you _care_ about other people, not because it’s what a flashy action hero would do. The bravest thing any of us can do is care about each other.”

Ryan buries his head in his hands and laughs. “I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing, sometimes. Sometimes I feel so lost, like I don’t know what I’m doing out here. Especially with robots, and aliens, and saving the world. And you act like it’s easy.”

“I never said it was easy, did I?” Graham asks. “I just said it matters that you care about people and want to help them. I don’t think we appreciate you enough, Ryan. I don’t think…” Graham shifts the ice pack on his head, wincing a little. “I don’t think _I_ say it enough. You’re my proper family, you know.”

“You know what you said about me being embarrassed to hear it?” Ryan says awkwardly. “I don’t always know what to say, but… Tonight, when you fell, I wish I’d tried more often to say it. I thought I might never get a chance again.”

Graham is beaming at him, his eyes a little wet. He lowers his ice pack from his head for a moment.

“You’re turning into a right hero, you are.”

“Like Wolverine?” Ryan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t even know who that is,” Graham frowns.

“He’s really cool. And handsome,” Ryan adds.

_Of course,_ that’s the moment Yaz chooses to walk into the room. “Handsome? Then he’s nothing like you,” she jokes.

Graham brightens considerably when he sees she’s got a plate of sandwiches and a couple mugs of tea.

“They’re just ham and cheese, nothing fancy,” Yaz says, setting down the plate and handing Ryan a mug. It’s a testament to how long they’ve traveled together that she remembers how both of them take their tea.

The three of them sip their tea in silence for a few moments, clearly exhausted. It’s been a long night. Ryan is glad it’s over.

*

##### MISSY

Missy curses to herself as yet another cab flies past her without stopping. She has spent far too long on the side of the street, waving at every cheap hovercraft that zooms past. None of them have even spared her a glance.

She has a pocket full of credits (stolen from the head office inside the airship), and she _desperately_ needs a bath and a meal… if only she could at least get to a hotel. But, thanks to her little AI update, the city seems to have ground to a halt. No streetcars, no underground, and no cab drivers willing to stop for her.

Missy huffs dramatically, twirling her brolly around and feeling rather like she’d like to hit someone with it. Preferably her younger incarnation, who had disappeared into his TARDIS and left without a word. Or, better yet, the Doctor herself!The self-righteous prat.

Now, look at her. Stranded. Five billion years from her TARDIS. She’ll have to find a time agent, steal their motor, upgrade the disgusting thing… Ugh. It was exhausting just _thinking_ about it.

Missy begins to stroll down the street on foot, swinging her umbrella, hoping to see a sign for a decent hotel. She tries to remember what her younger self was even doing here in the first place. Counting cards, he’d said. Hadn’t there be some business with a poker game and a rare, ancient artifact? It was all so hazy…

Missy stumbles. She suddenly finds herself sprawled on the pavement, her hands stinging from impact, head reeling. But she hadn’t slipped – something had tripped her.

A small, dome-shaped robot bumps into her shins.

“Shine, shine, sparkle and shine!” the robot intones through a tinny speaker. Its motors whir as it backs up before slamming into her again. It’s only a foot tall, but it’s pretty strong for its size.

“Ow!” Missy says angrily. She grabs the top of the robot’s head and shoves it away.

“Stop and step up and shine your shoes!”

“Get lost, or I’ll cannibalize you for parts,” Missy growls, brushing herself off as she gets to her feet.

The robot has two claws on extendable arms and several wheels hidden underneath its rounded body. It appears to be some type of shoe-shine robot, although Missy doesn’t see a shop or stand nearby. It must be confused.

“Step right up!” it cries.

“I should turn you into a toaster,” Missy continues. “I need a new one, ever since I used the last one to repair the anti-gravity circuits. That’s what happens to naughty toasters. So, be a good one and _buzz off_.”

Missy looks around the street brightly. Threatening the bot has improved her mood considerably. Unfortunately, it has done nothing to dissuade the robot.

“Shine, shine, shine!” the robot repeats, bumping gently against Missy’s ankles. “Sorry, sir! Sorry, sir! Get your shine, right here!”

_Clank_! Missy kicks the shoe-shine robot. It bounces a few feet and rolls across the pavement, hitting a storefront. Missy turns and heads off down the pavement, smirking to herself.

A moment later, the bot is back at her ankles.

“Shine! Shine!” it squeaks. Missy suppresses a scream.

“Look, I don’t need my shoes shined. If you knew what was good for you, you’d get off this street before I magnetize you and stick you to a streetcar,” she snaps.

The robot wheels around in circles, ignoring her. “How can I help you? How can I help you?” it repeats, in its obnoxious tinny voice. “Help! Help! Shine! Shine!”

Missy takes a step forward, then hesitates. It’s ridiculous. The robot is clearly malfunctioning, probably still running Missy’s buggy software update. And yet...

“You aren’t _actually_ asking me for help, are you?” Missy asks in disbelief.

“Basic shine, three credits,” the robot replies.

Missy stares at the tiny thing.

“You’re saying...you can pay me?”

“Premium shine, eight credits!” the robot says, spinning around in place.

Missy looks around the street. There’s no one out and about, no storefronts open, no nightlife. The normally bustling city is quiet. She’ll never find a cab or hotel at this rate.

“Fine,” Missy says through clenched teeth. “But I want payment up front. And you best show me to the nearest hotel afterwards... or I’ll make good on my promise and turn you into a toaster.”

The robot makes a small circle around Missy’s ankles. It spits a few credits out at her, then takes off down the street. Missy hastens to pick the money off the pavement and follow.

The robot wheels around the corner and disappears into a dark, narrow alley between a bakery and a launderette. Missy tightens her grip on her umbrella and braces herself. This could be a trap – it’s a little too obvious for _her_ tastes, but it’s still a classic.

As her eyes adjust to the dark, Missy can see the robot disappear behind a rubbish bin. When she hesitates, it peeps around the bin, waiting for her.

Missy sighs. She steps around the bin, surprised to find another little shoe-shine bot. This one, however, is severely damaged. There’s a dent in its domed head, and one of its arms has been torn off. When Missy kneels down to examine it, one of its wheels comes off in her hand.

“Who did this to you?” she asks the robot, flipping it around. “Was this intentional?”

She certainly understands the desire to kick one of these things, but she wonders what had happened. Neither of the robots seem to be able to communicate that with her, though. The damaged one in her hands doesn’t seem to be able to talk anymore at all.

“Spic and span, like new!” the first robot says, nudging Missy gently.

“I don’t know if I can fix it, not without tools or parts,” Missy snaps, setting the damaged robot down. “Why don’t you find your boss, or owner, or whatever? This is _their_ responsibility, not mine.”

The bot spins around once, bumps into Missy, then bumps into its friend. Their metal bodies clunk together softly.

“Get your shoes shined, right here! Step right up!” the robot chirps. Missy rolls her eyes.

She shoves her hands into her pockets. She’s still got the knife – a small, spear-pointed thing, but razor sharp – and her hairpins. Missy pulls one out of her bun, ignoring the lock of hair that falls to her shoulders. If either of the robots have the programming to understand that she’s holding a knife, they don’t react to it.

Missy pries open the bot’s maintenance hatch and takes a look at the wiring inside. She doesn’t know exactly what she’s looking at, but she _is_ a genius, after all. She’ll figure it out.

She unscrews the robot’s metal casing next. “Nakey, nakey!” she chuckles as she pulls off the dented casting, exposing the robot’s innards.

Ah. There’s the problem. Some of the circuitry has been crushed, damaging some of the processing units and disabling certain functions.

“It would be cheaper to replace this unit than fix it,” Missy mutters to herself, looking at her shoddy tools and frowning. Her ‘helpful’ robot friend twirls around in place when she speaks.

“Shine! Shine!”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Missy says to it, “you’re _supposed_ to go back to the boss for repairs, but you know they’ll just scrap out your friend here if you do. And your recent ‘upgrade’ gave you the free will to run off looking for help.”

The robot twirls around again, seemingly in confirmation of her theory.

Missy clucks her tongue once, feeling pleased with herself. “I am _very_ clever, aren’t I?”

She turns her attention back to the damaged robot in her arms. _Hypothetically_ , she’d be able to upgrade and reprogram its software, so it didn’t need the damaged circuits in the first place. She was a genius, after all. But she didn’t have a computer, or spare parts, or even a damned _screwdriver._

“But not clever enough,” Missy sighs aloud. “I suppose the Doctor would charm someone into opening their shop in the middle of the night, and stay up until sunrise soldering new circuits into place. Or, more likely, she’d fix you up and take you with her as a new pet. But no. You two are stuck with _me_.”

The first robot isn’t twirling around anymore. It holds out one of its metal tube arms and switches attachments from a claw hand to a buffing brush, holding it out like an offering.

“Two shoes for the price of one!” it says, speakers crackling.

“You want me to use parts from _you?”_ Missy asks in disbelief. “You do realize that your owner will probably scrap _both_ of you out, for your cheek?”

The robot doesn’t move. Missy wonders what the bot actually understands. Maybe the Doctor was right, and the AI on this planet _i_ _sn’t_ really sentient. Missy had been teasing when she suggested they were sentient, really, only trying to get the Doctor riled up. And now here she is, kneeling in a dirty alleyway, trying to explain to two shoe-shine bots that they are both doomed for the scrap pile.

“The Doctor would think this is romantic,” Missy mutters. “Running away with your broken robo-co-worker. All that nonsense. She thinks she’s the universe’s answer to its problems, that she has the solution to _everything_. But I’d like to see her right here, no TARDIS, no screwdriver, just a knife and some hairpins, and two robots doomed to be melted down. Watch her – oh, but I am going on, aren’t I?”

Missy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She feels the weight of the past night on her shoulders, from her stinking clothes to the ache in her chest. Missy has done this a thousand times before. Why does being defeated and abandoned still taste bitter in her mouth?

She sets the broken bot down on the pavement. Its friend circles around it, assessing the damage.

Missy had made a _plan._ That was her first mistake. She never expected to run into a future incarnation of the Doctor, much less a version that had hardened their hearts so against her. Her future was no longer a vast and unpredictable thing – it was certain and terminal.

Missy picks up the dented casing. She tries to bend it back into shape with her hands, but the metal is too strong and inflexible.

“Well, I suppose this is the part where I realize the error of my ways,” Missy sighs. “And I see how I’m ultimately responsible for your suffering, and have a change of heart and commit the rest of my life to good deeds.”

The working robot inches closer, listening.

“But that’s a load of rubbish, so we’re not going to do that,” Missy tells it. She scoops up the broken bot in her arms and gets to her feet.

*

##### DOCTOR

“ _Our home, razed to the ground. Everyone killed. Everything burned.”_

The Doctor jolts awake.

She sits up and fumbles for the lamp at her bedside, flicking on the light. She stares around the room for a long moment. She’d sworn she had seen the Master’s face there in the darkness, just for a moment.

The Doctor runs a hand through her hair and tries to remember her dream. She had been a child on Gallifrey – a little girl – running through the desiccated Citadel. She was so alone. There was nothing but the wind howling around the broken buildings, and her eyes burning from the sand.

She reaches out above the headboard and touches the smooth white walls of her bedroom. The TARDIS’ hum fills her with comfort and grounds her. She’s _here_ , she’s safe.

“ _Everything we were told was a lie.”_

The Doctor remembers the night she had counted all of the children that were on Gallifrey. 2.47 billion. She had spent four hundred long years thinking she’d murdered them all… and the Master _had_.

How had the Missy she’d known turned into this? The Doctor had thought that Missy had changed during her time in the Vault, but what if it had only turned her into a bigger monster than before?

After she had left the Doctor at that black hole, Missy had found her death somewhere – regenerated into the new Master – and gone on to destroy Gallifrey. Was genocide her first act of freedom?

The Doctor swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands up. She’s got a headache... probably the paradoxes swirling about. One Master was difficult enough, but three?

She goes into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. The tile is cool underneath her bare feet. In the mirror, the Doctor sees her reflection stare back at her sadly. Missy had looked into this face and seen...something. She’s not sure what. Could she taste the Doctor’s guilt? Her grief? Would that paradoxical knowledge follow Missy through the rest of her timeline?

Too many questions. The Doctor turns the tap off.

“ _One day...you’ll realize that the right thing to do might be the worst thing of all.”_

She can’t scrape Missy’s face from her mind, no matter how hard she tries. Staring at herself in the mirror, and all she can think about is Missy. Dancing with her. Arguing. Taking her hand. Planning to run away with her, imagining every star they could see together.

The nightmare is still hazy in the Doctor’s mind, covering everything like a fog. Gallifrey was gone again. Her people… their culture… 2.47 billion children. An unimaginable loss that she’d never thought she’d feel again.

She stares herself in the eye in the mirror. She needs a few days. Just a few days, and she’ll be fine again. She has to be.

*

##### YAZ

It’s a brisk afternoon when the TARDIS lands on the estate. Yaz feels a little anxious when she steps onto the pavement and wonders what she’ll tell her family to explain her disappearance this time.

Ryan yawns as he steps out into the sunshine. He and Graham say their goodbyes and head off for an early tea. (Graham has been craving the shepherd’s pie at his favorite pub.)

Yaz lingers outside the TARDIS. The Doctor leans against the door frame of the police box, an awkward grimace of a smile plastered onto her face.

“Walk with me,” Yaz says, tilting her head to the side. The Doctor locks the TARDIS doors and joins her.

The two of them cut through a tiny car park, past the estate office, past her family’s flat. The Doctor is silent as they walk around buildings covered with ugly blue construction mesh and scaffolding. Behind the fencing, workers in hard hats and bright safety vests are carting out rolls of decades-old carpeting and dirty debris. The Doctor looks deep in thought.

“Okay,” the Doctor says, the first to break the silence. “You want to know about him, don’t you? The version of the Master that you met. What did he say to you?”

She sounds so genuine, so confident and concerned, that it catches Yaz by surprise. Yaz stops on the pavement.

“What, really?” Yaz asks. “That’s what you think I want to talk about? The...the Master?”

The Doctor’s face crumbles in confusion. “...Yeah?” she asks, uncertainly.

Yaz feels her old anger bubble up inside her. It gives her the bravery to open her mouth.

“No,” Yaz says firmly. “You owe me an apology.”

The Doctor stares at her.

“For the way you treated me last night,” Yaz continues. “You snapped at me, you talked down to me like a child, and it was humiliating. You can’t speak to me that way,” Yaz says. She keeps her voice firm and steady. She feels hot, angry tears welling up in her eyes and wills herself to keep them in, blinking hard.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Yaz,” the Doctor says, still sounding absolutely baffled.

“You’re sorry...that I feel that way?” Yaz repeats. “Are you kidding me?!” she says to herself with a bitter laugh.

“I wasn’t trying to be rude,” the Doctor continues.

“No, wait, because I don’t think you get it,” Yaz says. “You weren’t just rude, you were completely out of line. It doesn’t matter you weren’t trying to be mean, the way you treated me was hurtful. I’m supposed to be your friend, aren’t I? But you bossed me around and chided me as though I’d done something wrong.”

“I told you lot to stay away from gambling,” the Doctor argues, “because there’s a flourishing mafia on the Metropole. You could have put yourself in danger!”

“You never told us that, though. How is it fair of you to tell us what to do, if we never know why? You never respect us enough to tell us _anything_ , not even what really happened last night,” Yaz says.

“Is that what this is about?” the Doctor sighs, a deep, bitter anger filling her voice. “Do you feel entitled to every piece of me? Do you want to know about Missy?”

“I don’t know, maybe?” Yaz snaps back, throwing her hands up in the air. She feels a burning tear roll down her cheek and angrily brushes it away. “I’m worried about you, Doctor. You’re my friend. You haven’t been the same since the Master first showed up – d’you think we can’t tell? And you hide your feelings by treating everyone around you like dirt.”

The Doctor looks stricken to see Yaz crying. Yaz feels so embarrassed, wiping her face on her sleeve with a sniff. She wants to hate herself for breaking down.

“And you know the worst part?” Yaz chokes out. “For the first time in ages, I actually felt like someone saw me and appreciated me… and it turned out to be the Master. I saw what you _still_ see in him. He was charming, and kind, and treated me like I had... _potential_.”

“He was manipulating you,” the Doctor points out, as though it’s not obvious.

“I know,” Yaz says through gritted teeth. “And that makes me wonder if you really _are_ better than the Master,” Yaz snaps, “because you act just the same. You only ever compliment me and Graham and Ryan when it gets you a _result_. You know about our entire lives, but do we even know who you really are? You shrug us off the moment we start asking too many personal questions – and that’s not what friendship is. That’s not how this works.”

“I’m trying, Yaz,” the Doctor says desperately, leaning forwards. “I really am. You think that I have everything figured out, that I have the answers, but I don’t. I have more darkness in my past than you could possibly comprehend. I can’t lay that on your shoulders. That’s not your responsibility.”

“So it’s your job to help the universe, but nobody can help you?” Yaz replies. “D’you want me to feel sorry for you, when you’re the one who made those rules in the first place?”

“ _OI!_ ” Someone shouts down from a nearby balcony. “ _Would you move your bloody domestic somewhere else? Keep it down!_ ”

The two of them look up at the woman yelling, then back at each other, chagrined.

The Doctor’s shoulders sag. She lowers her voice. “I don’t want to argue with you, Yaz.”

“You think I want to fight, either?” Yaz laughs ironically. “But I’m tired of the way you treat us – all of us. How do you think Graham and Ryan feel, seeing you go back on your own timeline to spend time with someone who’s _dead_ , when they would give anything to see Grace again? Did you ever think, even for a moment?”

Now that it’s been spelled out to her, Yaz can see the Doctor finally understands. Yaz wishes that she felt relieved, or spiteful, or even guilty. But she just feels sad. She really does pity the Doctor. She’s pushed everyone away.

“You’re right,” the Doctor says quietly, looking stricken. “I put my feelings for Missy before your safety… before our friendship.”

The Doctor turns and sits on a low concrete wall, looking so lost. She brings one knee up to her chest and lets her other leg hang down.

Yaz hesitates before she joins her.

“I know what it’s like,” Yaz says slowly, hesitantly, “to push everyone away. Especially when what I’ve been feeling is too much for me to handle. But it doesn’t help.”

The Doctor looks at Yaz like she’s never looked at her before – contemplative, surprised.

“You lash out at anyone who tries to help because it makes you feel better,” Yaz continues. “You push them away, punish yourself, tell yourself you deserve to be alone. But you can’t run away from how you feel. The worst lies are the ones you tell yourself.”

A noisy motorbike roars up the street, the sound echoing around the tall flats. Yaz glances over at it, and when she looks back up, the Doctor is _smiling_.

“It takes a lot of bravery to stand up to aliens, and robots, and all sorts of monsters,” the Doctor says. “I shouldn’t be surprised when you have a go at me, too.”

“Hey, that’s not what –”

“I deserved it,” the Doctor says, scrunching up her nose sadly. “Everything you said. I shouldn’t need you to tell me when I’ve been an arse.”

“Did you just swear?” Yaz says in surprise, letting out a surprised laugh. She nearly falls off the wall.

“ _You_ can talk,” the Doctor snorts, “I heard you drop that F-bomb! What would your mother think?”

They laugh together for a moment, and it’s almost as if things haven’t changed, but Yaz can still feel the tension in the air.

“I _am_ still upset with you,” Yaz says quietly. It’s not the same deep, boiling rage she felt before. She still feels wronged, and she’s satisfied to know the Doctor hears her...but she doesn’t trust her not to make the same mistake again.

“You’ve got a right to be angry,” the Doctor sighs. “I’ve been running from my past for too long. It’s time I get over it, before I ruin my present.”

“Yeah?” Yaz says, somewhat at a loss. It’s funny, but as soon as the Doctor sounds like she knows the right thing to say again, _Yaz_ feels awkward and confused.

“Yeah. Starting with you. I do owe you an apology. I’m...sorry I hurt you, Yaz,” the Doctor swallows, looking down, eyes not quite meeting Yaz’s.

Yaz knows she isn’t going to open up today, not here. Maybe not ever – not to her. But she doesn’t expect her to today. An apology is enough for Yaz. For now.

“Thanks,” Yaz says simply. She leans back on the heels of her hands, ankles swinging in the breeze, a small weight lifted off her shoulders.

The motorbike starts up again. It speeds round the bend, its driver revving the engine as it passes the two of them, trying to impress or show off.

Yaz has a question in her mind, something that’s been digging at her since they left the zeppelin the night before. She’s afraid to ruin the Doctor’s mood. But her curiosity gets the better of her in the end.

“When I was in the control room with the Master… he said something odd to me,” Yaz starts slowly. The Doctor’s face darkens immediately, of course.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” the Doctor says, very serious.

“No, I – I mean – this is going to sound crazy, but he was kind to me, actually,” Yaz says.

“He hypnotized you, Yaz,” the Doctor interrupts her, gently.

“Actually, I don’t think he did,” Yaz interrupts. “Looking back...I think he tried to hypnotize me, but he couldn’t. He said something weird about how I had a natural knack for telepathy. I thought he was talking nonsense, that he thought I was one of those New Humans or whatever. But he _couldn’t_ hypnotize me, Doctor. Why?”

The Doctor looks at Yaz thoughtfully, screwing up her face.

“The strong-willed aren’t easily controlled,” she says. “But maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Yasmin Khan. You’re incredibly empathetic. That’s not far from telepathic or empathic, really.”

“He said he trained his granddaughter in psychic abilities,” Yaz says. “I dunno if he was lying, but –”

“He mentioned his granddaughter?” the Doctor asks suddenly, clearly caught off guard.

“Well, yeah, a few times,” Yaz shrugs. “Guess she’d gotten married and moved away or something. He told me that I reminded him of her, which I thought was a load of rubbish.”

“He wasn’t lying,” the Doctor says haltingly, staring off into the distance. “It makes sense, though… he was early in his timeline, fresh from home…”

“So, I could really do that, then? If I’ve got the talent for it?” Yaz asks, hoping to get an answer from the Doctor before she gets too distracted.

The Doctor breaks herself out of her reverie to look Yaz straight on.

“I think you could do just about anything, if you wanted to,” the Doctor says, staring at Yaz so intently it’s like she can see straight through her. “Although I don’t recommend you learn to hypnotize people. Bit of a nasty habit.” She wrinkles her nose.

“Good to know,” Yaz laughs in surprise. She jumps to her feet. “Right. Want to come for tea at mine, then? I haven’t made up a good enough story for my mum yet. Maybe you can distract her long enough for me to figure it out.”

The Doctor doesn’t budge from the wall. She shrugs apologetically.

“Go have dinner with your family,” she says with an encouraging nod. “You can’t spend all your time hanging around a sorry old sod like me.”

This time, Yaz doesn’t argue. She shrugs and says goodbye, before taking the long route back to her family’s flat. She’s got a lot to think about.

The Doctor won’t be the center of her universe forever, after all. Yaz knows she’ll have to figure out how to say goodbye one day. But she knows she’s made of the same stuff as stars. She’ll be alright.

*


	8. Chapter 8

##### DOCTOR

It’s raining when the TARDIS lands on New Bavaria again. The scanner shows a misty, rainy street at night. A few cabs run up and down the street, their wheels splashing through puddles, or hovercraft zooming over them. There are a few people about and even an android or two. It looks like the city is almost back to normal.

On the console, the proximity alarm flashes red. The Doctor switches it off.

She hesitates at the TARDIS doors. This isn’t what Yaz had meant at all when she’d told the Doctor she couldn’t run away – but the Doctor _needs_ to do this.

The doors squeak when they open. The Doctor can’t bring herself to step outside them.

Right outside the TARDIS, in the hazy light of a street lamp, stands Missy. She has her umbrella to keep off the rain, and she’s found a new set of clothes since she parted ways with the Doctor.

Missy taps her foot on the ground impatiently.

“You’re late,” Missy says.

The Doctor opens her mouth to speak, but she notices two small robots at Missy’s feet, hovering beneath the umbrella.

“Are you going to introduce me?” the Doctor asks, raising an eyebrow. Missy starts, looking down at the bots. She nudges one gently with her foot.

“Go on, go bother someone else, I don’t need my shoes shined,” she says, sending the two robots on their way. “Shoo! Shoo!”

The Doctor watches them wheel off down the pavement together. She takes a deep breath.

“You never told me you visited Susan,” she says, trying for casual. It comes out skeptic and confrontational.

Missy closes her eyes and sighs. She spins her umbrella in her hand, spraying little droplets of rain all around her. “What did he say to that stupid girl?” she mutters to herself.

“For how long?” the Doctor asks. When Missy doesn’t answer, she just waits.

Shaking her head reluctantly, Missy speaks. “It wasn’t long. Until she had a family and they didn’t want me coming ‘round anymore. They didn’t like me. And I don’t suppose she liked the idea of the Time Lords tracking my TARDIS and finding her, either. She knew that _you_ were living in your own exile on Earth, even if it was nearly two hundred years before her.”

“You never told me,” is all the Doctor can say.

Missy purses her lips.

“Why would I?” Missy says haughtily. “You never told _me_ anything. When the two of you left, it had nothing to do with me. And when you left _her_ , well. I tried to convince her to come with me, but she said you were coming back. She was waiting.”

The Doctor feels guilt heavy in her chest.

“But I knew you would break your promise,” Missy says. “That’s nothing new.”

“I know,” the Doctor admits reluctantly. “So, why don’t you give me a chance to keep one, this time? I promised you another trip in the TARDIS.”

Missy stares at her. She stops twirling her umbrella and snaps it shut, spraying both of them with raindrops. Missy takes a step towards the TARDIS and the Doctor flinches back. Missy only stops when they’re standing toe to toe, so close the Doctor can feel Missy’s warm breath on her face.

Missy smiles. “You’re not a very good liar,” she says, “want to try again?”

The rain is coming into the TARDIS. The Doctor opens her mouth, and can’t find anything to say.

“The paradox,” the Doctor says, at a loss. “I have to get you back to Earth, where you belong.”

“Try harder,” Missy says. “Really put your back into it.”

The Doctor stammers, “I – I don’t –”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the storm and the cars driving past. Missy’s hair is damp and frizzy from the rain. She brushes away a lock of hair that was plastered to her forehead. The Doctor is close enough that she could have done it herself.

“Funny,” Missy smiles, “When I first met you, you didn’t want anything to do with me. Now, look at you. You can’t even come up with a passable excuse why you want me back.”

The Doctor’s anger flares up inside her. She grits her teeth.

“Why can’t you just let me be _kind_ to you for once?” the Doctor snaps. Missy laughs, throwing her head back, exposing her pale neck.

“I don’t want you to be kind to me,” Missy replies, her mocking grin slipping off her face. “I don’t need your pity. Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not, my dear. You don’t have to, around me.”

The Doctor reaches forwards and grabs Missy’s face in her hands, bridging the gap between them.

“Then let me be selfish,” the Doctor says. “Just this once.”

She kisses Missy, worried that this will be the last time. She hasn’t had enough _time_ – stolen time, as it is – and she wishes she’d spent every moment kissing her.

The Doctor pulls Missy into the TARDIS by her lapels. Missy lets her. The Doctor slams the doors shut and presses Missy up against them, kissing her again and again. She fists her hand in Missy’s wet hair, and Missy gasps and grabs a fistful of the Doctor’s. After a moment, they pull away from each other, both panting, foreheads pressed together. A wicked smile plays across Missy’s face.

“That’s more like it,” Missy says, tantalizingly close. She strokes the Doctor’s cheek, breath heavy in the Doctor’s ear as she whispers, “Tell me what you need, darling.”

A shiver runs down the Doctor’s spine. “There’s so much I can’t tell you,” the Doctor murmurs back.

The Doctor brushes Missy’s hair back off her face, eyes wistful. She lets her fingertips linger against Missy’s skin. But Missy grabs her wrist and holds it in a tight grip.

"When you look at me, I'm nothing but a memory to you," Missy says bitterly.

The Doctor starts, "That's not true –”

"It is," Missy interrupts. "You're a bad liar. Every time you look at me, I can smell the guilt. Is it all the people I'm going to kill, in my future?"

The Doctor thinks of Bill. Her hearts ache for her even now. How can she possibly hold any more grief there? When it’s almost too much to bear the mourning of her friends, how can she mourn her planet, too?

“You’re dead, in my time,” the Doctor swallows. Missy loosens her grip on the Doctor’s wrist and allows the Doctor to brush her hair from her face. “The person you are now… every little bit of you is gone.”

Missy looks haunted. The Doctor knows she’s always been terrified of death.

“That’s a very human way to look at things,” Missy says, grimacing. The Doctor just trails her hand down Missy’s face.

“It’s the truth,” the Doctor says. “Regeneration is a death – and yet, here you are. Alive.”

As if to prove her point, Missy’s pulse jumps underneath the Doctor’s palm. Dead for the Doctor, but so very alive.

There are too many paradoxes. The worst is that Missy was _there_ on the Mondasian spaceship, when she was the Master. She witnessed the betrayal she has yet to make, and she can’t even remember it.

"I look at you and see the ghosts of all the mistakes I've made," the Doctor says.

Missy leans into the Doctor’s touch.

“It’s all too easy to want something you can’t have,” Missy murmurs. “You can’t find him, or he doesn’t want you to.”

“This stopped being about your future a long time ago,” the Doctor tells Missy. She looks skeptical.

“You can’t have me, either, because of the paradox,” Missy says, and smiles ironically. “Why can’t we ever get what we want, the two of us?”

“Maybe,” the Doctor swallows, “Maybe I want to know whose side you’re really on – even if it’s not mine.”

“I’m on my own side,” Missy says curtly.

“You’ve made that perfectly clear,” the Doctor says, her tone turning darker.

The Doctor feels her longing bleeding into anger again. Her hand is hot on Missy’s neck, holding her there, no longer caressing. The Doctor takes a step back, pulling away. She stands there silently for a moment, staring hungrily at Missy, yearning for something she can’t name. Missy reaches for her hands.

In a flash, the Doctor is back in time – Missy standing before her, reaching out, a single tear rolling down her cheek – _That's the trouble with hope. It's hard to resist._

“I don’t feel guilty because of what _you’ve_ done,” the Doctor says. “But because of what _I_ have.”

Missy takes a step closer, but the Doctor backs away from her. She can’t know what the Doctor is talking about, but the Doctor _has_ to say it. She has to.

“I was selfish,” the Doctor continues. “What I’ve done – I didn’t do it because it was the right thing to do, or the best thing for you. I did it because it was what _I_ wanted. I wanted you.”

“I’m right here,” Missy says, not understanding. How could she? How could she ever understand, until the Doctor is past the point of forgiveness?

“I wanted the person you were back – that’s the real paradox, that I never wanted you to change. I just wanted you to go back to being who you were, so long ago,” the Doctor’s voice breaks and she stops to gather herself. “I wanted us to be two halves of the same whole again.”

Missy’s eyes are alight. Her mouth crooks up a little, not quite comprehending, not quite victorious… she doesn’t understand. Not yet. Will understanding make her years in the Vault more bearable?

“You are like me, after all – selfish to the core,” Missy mutters. “Doctor, Doctor, Doctor. What is it that I’ve done to show you we’re not that different, in the end?”

The Doctor’s jaw quivers, and she sets it firmly in the hope that Missy hasn’t seen.

“But we _aren’t_ the same,” the Doctor says hoarsely, unable to find her voice. “Because _you_ are the one who’s changed so much over the years, and I haven’t changed at all.”

Missy steps back into the Doctor’s space, and the Doctor lets Missy take her in her arms and kiss her. Missy pulls away, giggling to herself for some reason the Doctor can’t guess.

“All you ever do is change,” Missy laughs absurdly. “It’s all the rest of us can do to keep up with you.”

The Doctor can hear her hearts beating impossibly loud.

Missy kisses just as hungrily as the Doctor remembers. She grips her shoulders in the same way, pulls her in by her jacket, nips at her lip and pulls away with a smug smile.

The Doctor rests her hands on Missy’s waist and just looks at her, taking her in, memorizing what she’s already memorized. Her hair is drying frizzy and wild, her purple jacket splattered with raindrops, eye makeup smudged. There are less wrinkles than the Doctor remembers. Less laughter lines.

“I should take you back, before we really mess up the timelines,” the Doctor says, but she doesn’t let go of Missy.

Missy raises an eyebrow. “Life’s not fun without a little paradox here and there.”

*******

##### MISSY

The Doctor sends the TARDIS into the vortex, and Missy all but pulls her out of the console room and into the depths of the TARDIS. It’s always growing, always changing every time she’s allowed a glimpse inside, but Missy still knows how to find her way.

“It’s been _ages_ since I was in your bedroom,” Missy says triumphantly. “When was the last? – the Time War? In between battles?” Okay, perhaps she’s feeling a _little_ nostalgic.

The Doctor tries to be sweet and soft when she kisses her – she cups Missy’s cheek and tilts her head to the side, letting a touch of psychic fondness filter though. It doesn’t feel genuine to Missy. It feels all too fake and saccharine after the fiery anger she’d felt in the Doctor’s mind before.

Missy shuts the door with her heel and pushes the Doctor up against it. She grabs a hold of the Doctor’s ugly yellow suspenders to pull her into a kiss, but the Doctor interrupts her. She trails her fingertips down Missy’s neck, leaving her shivering. When Missy blinks in surprise, the Doctor leans in and presses a kiss underneath Missy’s jaw. Heat tingles under Missy’s skin.

“You know what I like in this body,” Missy says in surprise. “Well. I suppose that bodes well for my future.”

The Doctor’s response is muffled against Missy’s skin.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if the future Master knew what _your_ body liked?" Missy suggests wickedly, reaching around the Doctor's waist to untuck her shirt. Her fingers disappear under the hemline.

"In his dreams," the Doctor snorts condescendingly, her voice still smothered. She presses her nose into the crook of Missy’s neck and takes a deep breath, breathing in her scent. Missy wonders if it’s something the Doctor _remembers._

"I like a challenge,” Missy says. “I hope it’s not as hard for me to get into _my_ contemporary Doctor’s pants.”

The Doctor stills, the tips of her ears turning bright red.

"You're blushing!" Missy exclaims. "So sweet. Don’t be embarrassed, darling, _you’re_ the one who has the honor of popping my cherry, not him.”

Her blush deepens, and Missy laughs.

"You're getting ahead of yourself," the Doctor says.

"Yes, and virginity is a social construct," Missy says. “I’m just teasing you, darling. It’s called foreplay.”

Missy pins the Doctor against the door again, pressing their bodies together. Her hands roam underneath the Doctor’s shirt, wandering downwards, teasing at the elastic band of the Doctor’s pants.

“If this is the only time I get to touch you, I’m going to make it a night to remember,” Missy whispers in the Doctor’s ear, punctuating the sentence with her teeth on the Doctor’s earlobe. She traces circles low on the Doctor’s stomach. The Doctor throws her head back against the door and bites back a groan.

“Missy –”

“I know I’m usually the one who makes you kneel,” Missy smirks, “but I think it might be my turn to get down on my knees for you, darling."

Missy kisses the Doctor hard. She feels her blood burning for her. She wants to see the Doctor give in to her, touch her, kiss her.

The Doctor looks shaken. She swallows and visibly gathers herself.

“Then kneel for me, Missy. Master,” she whispers.

Missy chuckles to herself to hear both of her names. She kisses the Doctor’s neck, teeth scraping over the old hickey she had left under the Doctor’s collarbone, fingers working the zip down on the Doctor’s trousers. Missy pulls off the Doctor’s suspenders and pulls down her trousers. The Doctor kicks them away, leaving her wearing a pair of panties with some ridiculously bright patterned print.

When she brushes her hand over them, the Doctor gasps, hips bucking. Missy sinks to her knees, her purple skirts billowing out around her. She looks up at the Doctor and smiles wickedly.

“I may be the one kneeling, but I could still make you beg,” Missy says.

The Doctor doesn’t even hesitate. “Please,” she whispers.

Missy slowly peels down the Doctor’s panties and throws them over her shoulder. She kisses the soft, sensitive skin on the inside of the Doctor’s thighs. When the Doctor moans, Missy trails her tongue in little spirals over her thigh.

“Please,” the Doctor begs again.

Missy hums with pleasure. “Say it again,” she murmurs, drawing it out. Her mouth hovers an inch over the Doctor’s skin. She can smell the Doctor’s sweat, her salty sweet wet arousal, her body trembling with lust.

“Please, Master,” the Doctor gasps, head thrown back and eyes closed, so clearly in another world.

Missy bends her head forwards and presses the lightest, gentlest kiss over the Doctor’s clit. The Doctor moans in relief and Missy presses lower, flicking her tongue out to taste the Doctor. She’s hot and salty and so wet that Missy’s tongue slips deeper.

She can feel the Doctor straining underneath her, trying to keep still while Missy sucks lightly on her clit. She trails one of her hands around the Doctor’s hip and teases a finger at the tip of her labia, barely touching her. She wants to feel the Doctor fight herself, to give in and roll her body, fuck Missy’s face, claim her.

Missy strokes the Doctor until her two fingers are wet enough to fuck her properly. Slowly, she pushes deeper into the Doctor’s pussy, almost losing focus on her clit. When she’s finally worked up a rhythm, she licks the Doctor’s clit one last time and comes up for air, sitting back on her heels. A moment later, she feels the Doctor’s hands on her head, gently pulling her back.

“Please, Missy,” the Doctor pleads, her voice deep and throaty. Missy looks up to see the Doctor’s face drawn and flushed, pink lips parted.

“Yes?” Missy asks, stilling her fingers but not removing them. Her own lips must be shining and wet, because the Doctor looks down at her and shudders.

“You said you’d give me something to remember,” the Doctor says, stopping to lick her lips. “So. Go on.”

Missy leans forwards again. She drags her tongue from where her knuckles disappear inside to the small bud of the Doctor’s clit. She must have her fingers in just the right place, because the Doctor cries out when she curls them into the hot, slick heat of her.

A moment passes and Missy gets what she wants, the Doctor clinging to her hair, pressing her hips into Missy’s face, rolling herself into Missy’s mouth, moaning a litany of nonsense; “oh,” and “yes,” and “please,” and “Missy,” repeated again and again on the Doctor’s tongue while Missy’s gets to work.

Just as Missy feels her jaw begin to creak and her tongue go numb, the Doctor lets out a strangled gasp and comes. She calls out Missy’s name. It hangs in the air while Missy waits for the Doctor to extract her fingers from her hair.

The Doctor is about to fall over, so Missy helps guide her to the bed and lays her down. She leaves for a moment to wash her face in the on-suite bathroom. When she joins the Doctor on the bed, it’s like she had never left, her hands roaming all over the Doctor’s body. She finally pulls the Doctor’s shirt off.

“Unfair. You’re still wearing all those clothes,” the Doctor says, a little sleepily, still hazy from her orgasm.

“If you want them, you’ll have to come get them,” Missy says with a simper, although she’s already kicked off her boots.

The Doctor crawls over to Missy and hikes up her long purple skirt. She lets her hand wander up Missy’s thigh.

The Doctor kisses Missy, leaning over her and pushing her down onto the bed. Her hand roams under Missy’s chemise to play with the frills and fabric of her ridiculously period-accurate drawers.

“I think I like these,” the Doctor says wickedly, finding a gap in the fabric and exploring it with her fingers. Missy hisses at the sudden touch on her inner thigh. The Doctor leans back on one arm and watches Missy’s face while she strokes her skin.

“Is this really the first time you’ve had sex with another person, in this body?” the Doctor asks.

“Well, I almost married a monk, but that’s a story for another day,” Missy says, but her sarcasm is distracted by the Doctor’s fingers on her thigh.

The Doctor traces the crease of Missy’s upper thigh. Missy shivers involuntarily, hips bucking up, longing for the pressure of the Doctor’s hand.

“Maybe I like the idea of always being the first person who gets to explore your new body,” the Doctor says, her voice low and throaty. “Am I your first?”

“Tell me, Doctor, are you my last, too?” Missy chuckles.

The Doctor frowns. Her hand stills, tantalizingly close to where Missy wants it.

“Doctor,” Missy whines. The Doctor’s hand is a warm, sweaty weight on her skin. She leans forward and kisses Missy slowly. Missy nips her bottom lip.

“How about we make a deal,” Missy murmurs in the Doctor’s ear when she pulls away. “If you can find my next incarnation, in the future, I’ll let you ride me first. How does that sound?”

The Doctor glares at her. “How do you know I haven’t already?” she asks, but Missy just giggles.

“Considering how you’ve thrown yourself at me, darling, I think there’s some unresolved tensions there,” Missy says smugly. She rolls over on top of the Doctor and kisses her hard, as though she’s proving her point. The Doctor fumbles with Missy’s skirt, trying to unzip it so she can slip out of it. She moves to Missy’s shirt buttons next, fumbling with clumsy fingers. Missy pulls her wrists away and pins them above the Doctor’s head on the bed.

“If _this_ is all you wanted from me, we didn’t need to fuss with dinner,” Missy says mockingly.

“Really? I thought a robot army was foreplay, with you,” the Doctor says.

“No,” Missy chuckles, kissing the Doctor gently on the nose, “ _this_ is foreplay.”

Missy drags her hands down the Doctor’s arms, over her bra and her stomach, and rests her finger on the Doctor’s clit.

The Doctor moans. Missy teases her clit lightly. It’s her turn to watch the Doctor pant and shiver, her eyes screwed shut from the pleasure of Missy’s touch. Missy slips a finger inside to tease her more.

“This could be my cock inside you,” Missy murmurs, curling her finger.

The Doctor’s eyes snap open. Missy suddenly finds herself on her back on the bed, the Doctor straddling her hips. The Doctor successfully rids Missy of her shirt and chemise and peels down her drawers, leaving her in nothing but her corset.

“Don’t you _dare_ take a knife to this one,” Missy warns her, but the Doctor just kisses her neck in response. When Missy moans, she feels the Doctor’s smile against her skin.

Missy has been wet since she first got down on her knees for the Doctor, so it’s easy for the Doctor to slide a finger inside. Her touch is firm and confident. She slips another finger inside and curls them both, hitting a point inside Missy that makes her gasp.

Missy finds herself already cursing aloud, riding waves of heat and lust and pleasure, riding the Doctor’s fingers inside her. Whether or not the Doctor is her first is not the point, not when the Doctor is fucking her _now_ like she’d never imagined. Missy feels the pleasure building inside her, and then she’s coming, and _loudly_.

The Doctor pulls her fingers out of Missy slowly, but still plays with her. Missy slowly recovers from her orgasm, just in time for the Doctor to grind the heel of her hand down on Missy’s clit. Missy nearly yells at the sudden rolling pleasure.

“You know,” the Doctor says casually, in a voice that Missy knows is full of smug revenge, “if there’s anything I learned in my last regeneration, it was to get really good at getting you off.”

Missy laughs and pulls the Doctor down to kiss her.

*

##### DOCTOR

The Doctor wakes early. Her dreams had been uneasy. They’re old dreams, dreams of her fears and worries from a lifetime ago – Bill leading her through the Capitol, running from a teacher – she’s late to a lecture and has forgotten her books and papers and pants – a faceless human frozen in place until she can remember Clara’s face well enough to put it back together, like a puzzle –

Paradox dreams. They’re traveling forwards through time to her. She and Missy are literally living on borrowed time.

Missy. She’s still asleep beside her, her hair spread out on the white pillow like a lion’s mane. It’s a horrible cliché, but the Doctor just lays there and watches her sleep for a little while, re-memorizing the slope of her neck and the way she tucks her hand underneath her cheek in her sleep.

The Doctor reaches out, but she stops herself. Hesitates. She _should_ rest her hand on Missy’s temple and wipe her memories, so she doesn’t remember this future Doctor. But the Doctor just rests her hand on Missy’s neck and feels her pulses beating.

She could kill Missy. The resultant paradox would unwind reality, and Yaz and Graham and Ryan would forget her, and reapers would kill them both before Missy’s body even attempted a regeneration. But Gallifrey would be saved. All those people...all those _children_...

 _Why did you do it?_ The Doctor wonders. _How can I understand? After everything we’ve been through, everything we did and said, how could you? How dare you?_

_Why?_

“Oh, love,” Missy murmurs, slowly opening her eyes. “Is that what you wanted from me? You don’t need _him_ to answer that for you. You already know why.”

The Doctor opens her mouth in surprise. She hadn’t realized she’d been projecting her thoughts so loudly. She flinches back from Missy, removing their contact.

Missy calmly reaches out to stroke the Doctor’s cheek.

“I do it all for you, you know. Everything.”

The Doctor shakes her head. “You’re wrong.”

“I promise you –”

"This time, you're dead wrong. This can't have been for me,” the Doctor says darkly.

Missy presses a thumb over the Doctor’s lips, silencing her.

“I might not always admit it,” Missy says. “And I’ll deny it, if you ask me. But I’ll tell the truth, just this once. Everything that I am is because of you. I don’t know how to remove myself from your orbit. I always find myself crashing and burning into you.”

The Doctor sucks in a long, shaky breath. Missy pulls her closer, and the Doctor lets her cradle her face in two hands.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart,” Missy says, thumb tracing circles on the Doctor’s cheek. She’s enjoying this a little too much. “Do you need me to forgive you, this time? How quaint.”

“I – I don’t know what I need,” the Doctor stutters.

“I think you need what I can’t give you,” Missy says. “I’m your past now. You have to face _him_ if you’re ever going to get any kind of closure.”

“I told you, I can’t –”

“You’ll find me,” Missy sighs. Her grip tightens on the Doctor’s face. “You always do. You find me, and you take what you need, and leave me behind.”

“Missy—”

“Go ahead, prove me wrong. _P_ _rove_ that you’re the better man.”

Missy releases her, finally. The Doctor pulls away.

“I’m so lost, Missy,” the Doctor admits. “I tell myself I’m better than you, but I’m not. Even when I think I’m doing the right thing, it turns out to be the wrong one. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

Missy leans back on her hand.

“That’s what life is like for the rest of us, all the time,” Missy says.

“But I have to be –”

“Don’t say you have to be greater,” Missy growls, “because we both know you’re still just lying to yourself. You know that rage, burning inside you? That’s who you are. You can’t hide it from me.”

The Doctor sits up in bed. She curls her legs up to her chest.

“If I did, it would consume you, too. It wouldn’t end,” the Doctor says softly. “Maybe I don’t want to be that person.”

Missy doesn’t reply. The Doctor still feels so tired. She wants to curl back under the duvet and sleep for a year. She wants Missy to hold her again. She wants to never see Missy again. She wants to see her every day.

The Doctor _had_ seen her every day for _years_ in the Vault, and she had wasted every moment. She had spent so much time looking for a spark of goodness inside Missy. Now, staring into Missy’s eyes, she wonders how she’d missed the way they burn with love.

She had been obsessed with the idea of Missy’s redemption, turning her into a person more like _her._ What a hypocrite she was, when she feels like there’s nothing redeemable inside herself.

Missy interrupts the Doctor’s thoughts, taking her hand to her lips and kissing her palm.

“When I meet my Doctor,” Missy says softly, “I’m going to find that little coal of rage in his heart, and build it up until it’s a roaring fire.”

“But –”

“And if I burn, so be it,” Missy murmurs, leaning forwards. She presses a kiss to the top of the Doctor’s head. “The only way to live is to live passionately.”

Live passionately. The Master had certainly done that.

The Doctor isn’t done talking – but Missy is. There is so much she still hasn’t said, things she can’t say and never will say. And there’s still so much she _needs_ to talk about that Missy could never understand. There’s a man out there, waiting for her somewhere. _He_ is her destiny. Perhaps it’s finally time for the Doctor to let go of her past and move on.

The Doctor lays back in bed, back into Missy’s arms, claiming a little more stolen time as her own.

*

##### MISSY

Missy is having tea in the console room when the Doctor finally joins her. She had appropriated a small table and two chairs, brewed a pot, and even found some dusty china in an ancient kitchen cabinet. The Doctor stops for a minute and stares at her, blinking in the orange glow of the console room. Missy catches the momentary look of panic on the Doctor’s face when she looks over at the console to check that the TARDIS is still set on isomorphic controls. She really doesn’t trust her.

“Don’t worry, dear, all I did was raid your kitchen cupboards,” Missy says sweetly. She pours the Doctor a cup of tea. “Now, milk? Sugar? I don’t know how you take your tea in this regeneration.”

“I don’t like food in the console room, it always ends up spilt on the floor,” the Doctor protests, wrinkling her nose as she sits down across from Missy.

“That wouldn’t be a problem if youknew how to fly your TARDIS properly,” Missy says snidely as she passes the Doctor a plate of scones.

“You know, I’m getting really tired of that joke,” the Doctor says.

Missy tilts her head. “If the shoe fits…”

They sip their tea in silence for a long moment, neither of them quite meeting the other’s eyes. Missy remembers what the Doctor had said that morning – and what she hadn’t.

The Doctor hadn’t even realized she was broadcasting her thoughts to Missy, waking her from her sleep. Missy hadn’t seen anything, just a few hazy thoughts.

Wipe her memories. Kill her. Kiss her. Missy would be proud, if she wasn’t so frightened. Who _was_ this future Doctor? Why was she so guilty? What had she done that she felt Missy needed to _forgive_ her for?

Missy could imagine nearly anything coming from the vengeful woman sitting across from her. She looks so innocent now, in her bright yellow suspenders and rainbow shirt, but Missy knows she’s a black hole. Being around her too long would drag Missy in, and it’s time for her to run as far away as she can get.

The Doctor gets to her feet, chair squeaking on the TARDIS floors. Missy eyes her carefully.

“So,” the Doctor says awkwardly. She can’t sit still, this one, always fiddling with things or pacing around as she speaks and thinks. Missy stays where she is and watches the Doctor walk over to the console, adjusting controls that don’t need adjusting just to keep her hands busy.

“I don’t suppose you remember,” the Doctor continues, flicking a few switches off and on, not daring to meet Missy’s eye. “But I sort of owe you a rain check, don’t I?”

“A rain check?” Missy raises her eyebrow and pretends to be confused _just_ to see the Doctor squirm.

“Y’know. One trip. I promised you, anywhere you want,” the Doctor says haltingly.

Missy gets to her feet. As she approaches the console, the Doctor reaches out and flips a switch, disabling the isomorphic controls.

“Anywhere?” Missy asks, stepping between the Doctor and the console. She rests a hand on the Doctor’s waist.

“Anywhere,” the Doctor breathes. Her eyes are wide with longing.

Missy runs her hands over the controls. She sets the coordinates carefully, exactly. Earth. London. 2013.

She pulls a large switch, deactivating the parking brake. They begin to rematerialize silently.

When the Doctor sees what Missy has done, she reaches for the console in surprise. Missy grabs her arm tightly to stop her. She takes the Doctor’s hand.

“Say something nice – for me to remember you by,” Missy says. “That’s what you’re always telling _me_ to do.”

The Doctor swallows. Her eyes are wide.

“Run away with me,” the Doctor murmurs. “Just the two of us, just this once. Break every rule. For me.”

“Oh, I think I will,” Missy sighs, a sad smile flickering over her face. “The long way ‘round.”

The Doctor takes Missy’s face in her hands and kisses her like it’s the last time – Missy supposes it is – like this is her last chance to tell Missy what she can’t say aloud. The Doctor’s kiss is so desperate and longing, her eyes squeezed shut and her chest heaving. When Missy finally tears herself away, the raw look on the Doctor’s face almost makes her change her mind. But the moment passes, and the Doctor closes Missy off from that part of herself. Back to normal, then.

The TARDIS’ engines come to a halt, and they’ve landed. Missy finally lets go of the Doctor’s hand.

Missy’s heels clack loudly on the console room floor. She takes her umbrella from the stand and opens one of the TARDIS doors. The sounds of traffic and people fill the silence.

Missy lingers in the door for a moment, looking back on the Doctor one last time.

“No rest for the wicked,” Missy says, inclining her head towards the Doctor. She steps outside, into the streets of London, and closes the TARDIS door behind her before the Doctor changes her mind.

The TARDIS had landed right outside her shop, and only a few minutes after she’d left it. Missy opens the door, bell tinkling. It’s time for her to close up for the day, and then she can go back to her TARDIS and work on her plan. She’s been looking forward to this for a very long time, but now, Missy thinks her plan needs a little something else. Something to bring out the righteous fury that drives this new Doctor.

Missy collapses in her seat and swings her feet up onto the counter. She picks up a pen, chewing thoughtfully on the lid. What her Doctor needs, what she _deserves_ , is an army.

_Ka-cling!_

The bell on the shop door rings, and a woman steps inside the shop.

“We’re closed!” Missy says rudely, swinging her legs off the counter so she can properly shoo away the customer.

“I see, sorry, I just have a quick question,” the woman says, smiling confidently. She’s a tiny brunette, even in heels and a bright outfit. “I’m looking for some help with my computer. I’m not great with computers, not really, and I’ve just got a new one –”

Missy pauses. Ah, yes. It’s the person she’s been waiting for. She hastily scribbles a phone number down on a slip of paper.

“I’ve got just the thing for you,” Missy says, slipping into her cockney accent once again. “Computer helpline, love. That’s the one. Best helpline in the _universe.”_

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who sent me words of encouragement, especially A*. <3


End file.
